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NAPOLEON 


BY   THE    SAME    AUTHOR 

POEMS  WITH  FABLES  IN  PROSE 

in  two  volumes,  including 

DEIRDRE    WEDDED 

THE    QUEEN    OF    GOTHLAND 

APOLLO    AND    THE   SEAMAN 

THE  ROCK    OF    CLOUD 

THE   CANZONE    OF    SEBASTIAN    VALIER 

STANZAS    TO    TOLSTOY 

REQUIEM    OF    ARCHANGELS    FOR    THE    WORLD 

BATTLE    OF   THE    MARNE 

MILO 

NIGHT    UNDER    MONTE    ROSA 

SONG    OF   THE    VINE 

And  other  Poems  and  Songs 
[Second  impression] 


NAPOLEON 


A   PLAY 


BY 


HERBERT   TRENCH 


NEW  YORK 

OXFORD    UNIVERSITY    PRESS 

AMERICAN  BRANCH  :  35  West  32nd  Street 
LONDON.  TORONTO    MELBOURNE.  AND  BOMBAY 

1919 


Copyright,  igig 
by  Oxford  University  Press 
american  branch 


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•  •  •  «  •  • 


ACT   I 


I       •         » 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I 


Anne 
Doctor 


Anne 

Doctor 
Anne 

Doctor 
Anne 


Doctor 
Anne 


The  Abbey  Farm-house. 
Time:  August  in  the  year   1805. 

The  interior  of  St.  Radegund's  Abbey  Farm-house,  in  the 
country,  near  Dover,  Kent.  A  Study.  At  the 
back  is  a  door  leading  into  a  laboratory. 

Doctor  Wickham,  a  grey-haired  man  with  a  powerful 
face,  comes  out  of  the  laboratory  with  a  retort  in 
his  hand,  and  absently  warms  it  before  the  fire;  he 
then  places  it  on  the  table,  and  turning  to  the  fire- 
place  grasps  the  mantelpiece  with  both  of  his 
knotted  hands  outstretched,  and  stares  absorbed  in 
painful  thought  into  the  fire. 

His  Wife,  Anne  Wickham,  enters. 

I  have  brought  my  little  chair.     Do  I  disturb  you? 

You're  the  only  woman  ever  born  who  never  dis- 
turbs a  laboratory.  You  make  the  room  larger  for 
one.  You  make  my  fingers  steadier.  For  a  savage 
temper  that 's  soothing. 

My  savage!  Said  to  please  me!  I  do  nothing;  just 
fit  in. 

No,  no. 

To-day  we've  been  married  thirty  years.  Did  you 
remember  ? 

No. 

To  celebrate  the  day  I  am  going  to  leave  you.  What 
6ay  you  if  I  leave  you  for  a  while  (don't  laugh)  to 
fend  for  yourselves? 

Are  you  serious? 

Smile!  Listen.  I  am,  after  all,  French-born.  You 
remember  that  escaped  French  prisoner  we  found 
starving  under  the  garden  wall?  What  he  told  us — 
How  at  Portsmouth  the  French  prisoners  are  packed 
on  hulks — five  hundred  to  a  single  deck — no  air  and 
no  light — packed  so  close  that  all  the  five  hundred  at 

3 


« .  «      « 


'  t     '    .      <    t     < 

<        <  «     c        e        c  f 


,  «   *        t      <  i  «    i 


:\:U':y':i.':':\..\gL&T'°L     SCENE  I 


Doctor 
Anne 

Doctor 


Anne 


Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 


Anne 


night  have  to  turn  over — side  to  side — at  a  signal  ?  No 
games  except  rat  races,  and  dicing  away  their  rags  for 
crumbs.  I  must  go  down  to  Portsmouth  to  mend  their 
clothes;  play  with  them;  keep  them  human. 

How  do  you  propose  to  go? 

If  I  cannot  ride  there,  I'll  walk — persuade  the  cap- 
tain of  the  hulk! 

There  was  once  a  Quaker  maidservant  who  walked 
from  Greece  to  Constantinople  to  reason  with  the 
Grand  Turk  of  the  inner  light! 

Ah,  what  inner  light  have  I?  Still,  one  must  go  by 
one's  glimmer.  Smile!  (With  her  fingers  on  his 
cheeks  she  attempts  to  make  him  smile.) 

Well,  you  shall  go!     Never  mind  what  I  say  to-day. 

What  ails  my  man? 

I  could  make  all  Kent  and  Sussex  ring  with  rheu- 
matism, but  that 's  not  it — I  have,  my  dear,  ill  news. 

What  is  it? 

Geoffrey  sailed  from  Dover  this  morning. 

Our  Geoffrey? 

Sailed  on  his  own  boat. 

But  the  old  sloop  has  been  laid  up  these  two  years. 

Ever  since  war  broke  out  again  with  Bonaparte. 

Sailed  whither? 

Who  knows? 

Why  should  we  be  surprised? 

By  our  eldest  son? — Trained  by  me  for  the  sciences 
— trebly  trained?  Why  play  fast  and  loose  with  them 
thus  suddenly,  a  second  time?  Wasn't  volunteering 
with  the  French  in  Italy  years  ago  enough?  After  long 
chains  of  experiments  I  am  on  the  edge  of  breaking 
up  air  and  water  into  their  gases — But  I  am  on  the 
edge  too,  of  breaking  up  myself.  Who  can  assist  me 
in  these  wilds  but  Geoffrey,  with  his  level  head,  and 
his  habit  of  exactitude?  He  has  what  few  have,  the 
scientific  idea.  His  calculations  were  useful  as  a  con- 
trol of  mine.  I  had  counted  on  him.  Now  again  he 
vanishes.    I  confess  ....  (Pauses) 

I  see,  it  cuts  deep. 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I 


Doctor 


Anne 


Doctor 
Anne 


Doctor 


Anne 


Doctor 


Anne 


Doctor 
Anne 


Doctor 
Anne 


And  at  what  a  moment?  Do  you  think  you  would 
recognize  Boulogne,  where  you  and  I  lived  peacefully 
so  long?  Now  a  vast  bristling  fortress,  blockaded  by 
us.  And  French  privateers  scouring  the  Channel — all 
the  lightships  left  lightless  against  the  enemy.  Can 
Geoffrey's  sloop  escape? 

I  wonder.  He  took  a  long  leave  of  me  last  night. 
For  months  I  have  felt  something  smouldering  and 
brooding. 

He  said  nothing? 

Yes,  he  said  a  very  strange  thing.  He  said  he  had 
made  a  discovery: — The  discovery  of  the  organic  in 
the  ties  between  human  beings. 

The  discovery  of  the  organic — in  the  relations  be- 
tween human  beings  ?  Nonsense !  We  are  solitary  atoms. 
Ever  since  the  Renaissance  we  have  all — men  and 
nations — lived  apart: — Lives  separate — individual — dis- 
tinct; minds  essentially  and  increasingly  alone! 

I  will  not  have  him  blamed.  He  is  a  slow  ripener, 
like  all  your  family — shy  of  speech,  poor  lamb— sure 
of  little — hard  to  shake  from  his  purpose. 

What  is  he  but  shaken  from  his  purpose  to-day? — 
He,  the  student  of  tides,  sea-map-maker,  hydrographer? 
Isn't  that  a  craft  wide  enough  for  a  lifetime?  Where  's 
the  continuity  in  this? 

Suppose  he  can  stand  inaction  no  longer? — Wants  to 
get  from  maps  into  the  world  of  four  dimensions  and 
test  his  discovery  on  himself?  Don't  we  all  feel  that 
undertow  of  the  war-tide,  sucking  us  out?  Haven't  you 
yourself  five  times  volunteered? 

But  why  this  mystery?  I  dislike  it.  Why  not  trust 
us,  his  own,  who  bred  him? 

Why  not  trust  him,  our  own,  whom  we  have  bred? 
Geoffrey  sings  in  the  middle  of  the  note — breathes 
light  with  every  pore  of  his  beautiful  young  body.  He 
is  set  on  some  high  mark  invisible  to  us. 

Tell  me  again  exactly  what  he  said. 

He  said,  '  Mother,  I  think  the  secret  of  living — 
where  life  seems  so  chaotic,  flowing  and  unstable — lies 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I 


the  discovery  of  an  organic  soul,  first  in  ourselves;  then 
in  other  human  creatures;  and  finally  even  in  the  mys- 
terious currents  between  ourselves  and  them.'  He  said, 
'If  I  have  discovered  the  organic  in  that  final  stage 
— an  inward  shape  and  purpose  in  the  relations  between 
men,  I  must  use  the  knowledge;  I  must  test  it.  I  am 
going  to  put  it  to  the  severest  proof  of  all.'  I  said, 
'  How  can  you  put  to  the  proof  a  discovery  of  the 
organic  soul  in  human  society?'  And  he  answered, 
gaily,  as  he  kissed  me, — '  I  must  bring  it  to  bear  on 
the  most  powerful  living  antagonist.' 

Pause  .  .  .  Dr.  Wickham  sees  in  his 
wife's  face  a  first  sudden  surmise  and 
apprehension  as  to  whom  this  antagonist 
may  be.  He  tries  to  turn  aside  her 
surmise. 

Doctor  Rainbow-chasing ! 

Anne  But  if  he  has  sailed — 

Doctor  Well  ? 

Anne  And  sailed  to  France  in  mid-war-time,  as  you  say — 

Doctor  Well  ? 

Anne  The    antagonist    whom    he    has    in    mind    may    be 

Napoleon. 

Doctor  He  may  be  mad,  but  hardly  so  mad  as  that.     How 

should  he  get  near  Napoleon?  Does  he  think  to  be 
admitted  to  the  presence?  How  should  he  deal  with 
Napoleon  ?  As  well  try  to  ride  a  comet.  No ;  it 's  some 
rainbow-chasing!  The  dash  of  the  sublime  in  Geoffrey. 
Well!  if  he  draws  that  from  you,  my  dear,  I  suppose 
he  has  his  reward. 

Anne  Sublime  that  wants  reward  is  not  the  sublime. 

Doctor  Even  the  beautiful  and  the  true  are  not  wanted  here 

— they  have  to  be  enforced. 

Anne  How?    The  things  of  the  spirit  enforced? 

Doctor  By  sheer  compassion  for  the  sufferings  of  the  worker 

himself.  He  must  have  hewn  himself  into  the  very 
statue  of  deformity.  Look  at  me!  {Pause)  Another 
thing  stumbles  me :  where  's  Raymond? 

Anne  Raymond?     Two  sons  I  cannot  lose. 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I 


Doctor 


Margaret 


Doctor 
Margaret 


Anne 
Margaret 

Doctor 
Margaret 

Anne 
Margaret 

Anne 


Doctor 
Margaret 


There  's  Margaret  coming  through  the  orchard !  She 
is  late. 

The  girl,  Margaret,  enters  breathlessly. 

Good  morning,  Father,  guess  what  I've  seen!  Oh 
my  motherkin,  the  wind 's  so  gloriously  high  on  the 
Down — I've  been  running  so  fast — But  the  news,  the 
news!  I'll  give  you  five,  I'll  give  you  fifty,  I'll  give 
you  till  doomsday  to  guess !  The  news,  so  hard  to  keep ! 
— I  was  sworn  to  secrecy  till  they  were  clean  out  to  sea. 

What  have  you  to  tell  us? 

You  know  where  the  brass  half-circle,  with  the  names 
of  the  ports  of  France  on  it,  is  let  into  the  wall  on  the 
high  cliff?  I  ran  there — they  let  me  look  through  the 
telescope  over  the  Channel — there  she  was! — far  out 
beyond  the  undercliff.  Geoffrey's  old  sloop,  all  gay  and 
glittering,  beating  out  to  sea !  And  a  cloud-shadow  rac- 
ing after  her.  I  could  make  out  the  little  figures  on 
board,  and  who  was  at  the  wheel — Geoffrey  himself! 
For  then,  just  as  though  he  knew  I  was  watching,  he 
came  out  of  the  wheel-house,  took  off  his  cap,  and 
bowed,  saluting  the  cliffs  of  England! 

Ah! 

Imagine  it,  Geoffrey  's  sailed  to  France,  and  Raymond 
with  him ! 

Fools,  fools! 

How  I  wish — how  I  wish  I  were  with  them!  Our 
seagulls  diving  from  the  cliff! 

You  have  dropped  a  piece  of  paper. 

(Picking  it  up)  As  they  were  going  Raymond  threw 
me  this,  for  you. 

(Reading)  '  Mother,  don't  be  alarmed  at  Jan's  ab- 
sence' — Jan's  absence! — my  little  Jan!  (Continues 
reading)  '  He  begged  to  be  allowed  to  sail,  and  as  I 
know  Geoffrey  would  not  hear  of  it,  I  have  smuggled 
Jan  on  board  as  stowaway/ 

Jan! — my  little  scamp — a  thing  scarce  weaned — 
Fools !    Fools !    Fools ! 

How  else  can  they  come  back  sea-wise?  ..  .  . 
Mother,  why  are  you  so  pale? 


8 


ACT  I.     SCENE  I 


Anne 

Margaret 

Anne 


Margaret 

Anne 
Doctor 


Anne 


Anne 


Will  Jan  keep  his  twelfth  birthday  on  the  Goodwins? 

Shall  I  go  and  get  you  some  cordial,  Mother? 

Stripped  of  three  sons  in  one  day!  .  .  — .  .  After 
all,  Meg  is  right.  They're  ripe  for  sea-faring  at  twelve 
years  old. 

Mother,  he 's  with  Geoffrey — he'll  be  safe  with 
Geoffrey. 

I  suppose  it  is  human  nature. 

Human  nature! — if  they've  no  better  counsellor  than 
that!  ....  {Pause)  My  dear,  will  you  go  to  your 
French  prisoners? 

Not  now.  The  house  would  be  too  empty  without 
the  boys.  I  will  stay  with  you,  my  friend,  until  Geoffrey 
comes  back. 

The  Doctor  goes  out. 

Ah,  these  sons,  these  sons — We  make  them — bring 
them  into  life,  and  go  through  our  little  troubles  for 
them.  Like  birds,  they  must  be  twice-born,  and  break 
away  from  us  and  the  nest  again.  Suddenly  they  too 
have  purposes,  wiser  than  ours.  But  O  why  should 
these  purposes  be  so  unspeakable?  What  is  in  these 
young  creatures'  hearts,  I  say — Who  will  tell  us  that? 


ACT  I.     SCENE  II 


Marine 
Guard 


Voice 
Marine 


The  Cliff's  Face. 

It  is  night  under  the  precipitous  cliff  near  Cap  Creche  on 
the  Coast  of  France,  east  of  Boulogne.  Slabbed 
rocks  just  emerge  from  the  sea  at  the  foot  of  the 
cliff,  which  is  partly  seen  in  outline.  A  French 
Marine  Guard,  with  a  great  lantern,  enters  on 
the  rocks  from  the  east  side.  He  hauls  out  a  rope 
which  hangs  down  the  cliff ;  sits  down,  and  fastens 
to  the  rope's  end  the  lantern  between  his  feet  on 
the  ground. 

{Shouting  up  the  cliff  after  listening  to  the  Sentinel's 
challenge  above  on  the  cliff -top)  Bon  quart!  All 's 
well!  (No  answer)  Bon  quart!  (To  himself)  I  missed 
him,  yes,  but  wait,  wait  ....  A  wise  old  owl  sat  in 
an  oak — the  more  he  saw,  the  less  he  spoke!  Misjudged 
the  distance,  did  I?  Well,  the  sun  was  shining  behind 
my  back,  and  so  happen  I  under- judged  it.  But  I  was 
aiming  at  the  young  devil  over  rocks  and  boulders — 
and  he  in  shade,  and  heat  rising — so  happen  I  over- 
judged  it.  A  see-saw  affair!  (Fluttering  his  palm  this 
way  and  that. ) 

(From  the  cliff -top,  m  the  remote  distance  overhead) 
Ohe,  Old  Efficiency! 

1  Ohe,  Old  Efficiency ' — ,  this  from  them  that  can't 
handle  an  oar!  No,  I'll  tell  you,  (Addressing  his 
musket)  sitting  so  mum  on  your  butt-end,  why  I  missed 
him: — He  came  up  so  young  and  foolish  after  his 
dive,  smiling  into  my  very  face, — that  I  was  staggered, 
and  let  him  off.     But  you  wait,  wait,  wait. 

He  rises  and  adjusts  the  lantern  with 
its  light  towards  Boulogne;  then  goes 
round  the  cliff  eastward  in  the  direction 
of  Fort  Croy. 


IO 


ACT  I.     SCENE  II 


Wickham 


Wickham 

Raymond 

Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 

Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 

Wickham 

Raymond 

Wickham 

Watt 
Wickham 


A  boat  with  three  cloaked  men  in  it 
cautiously  appears  out  of  the  darkness 
round  the  cliff  along  the  rocky  slabs  of 
the  foreshore.  They  are  Geoffrey 
Wickham,  his  brother  Raymond  Wick- 
ham, and  Watt,  a  seaman. 
(In  a  low  clear  tone)  He  's  passed — the  shore  patrol  's 
passed.     Bring  her  in  close. 

Raymond    jumps    ashore.     Wickham 
lands. 
In  half  an  hour  he'll  return  to  put  this  lamp  out. 
Now  then,   (Addressing  Raymond)   jump  in. 

(Stepping  back  into  the  boat  reluctantly)  Why  must 
I  go  back?    I'll  land  with  you,  Geoffrey! 

(After  a  pause  of  astonishment)  You've  had  your 
orders. 

Yes,  yes — Take  charge  of  sloop  and  papers. 
Just  so — Off  you  go! 

Look  here,  let  Watt  take  charge  (Pointing  to  the 
seaman).    I'm  going  ashore  with  you,  Geoffrey. 

If  risk  is  what  you  want,  you've  had  it  for  the  last 
twenty  seconds. 

Halt!     I  refuse.     (Jumps  back  to  shore.) 
Mountebank!     (To  Watt)  My  pistols  are  under  the 
boat-cloak  in  the  stern.     (He  takes  the  pistols.) 

(Folding  his  arms  with  a  mocking  smile)  Shoot  away! 
We  are  under  nine  miles  of  batteries. 
Don't  I  know  every  tussock  of  this  cliff  from  here 
to  Calais? 

No  doubt.  But  the  cliff  may  not  recognize  you,  just 
now. 

Why,  I  slipped  ashore  in  the  dinghy  here,  yesterday — 
Went  through  four  lines  of  huts  and  canteens — and  got 
clean  away  again. 

You  slipped  ashore  without  orders?  (Turning  to 
Watt)  Is  this  so? 

(Nods)  I  didn't  report  it  against  him,  sir. 
(Taking  off  his  hat  he  throws  it  down  on  the  Hat  rock; 
and  takes  Raymond  by  the  shoulder  up  to  the  lantern, 


ACT  I.     SCENE  II 


ii 


Raymond 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 


Wickham 
Raymond 

Wickham 


Watt 
Raymond 

Wickham 


Raymond 


so  that  the  light  is  on  both  their  faces)  So  ho!  The 
toast  is  mutiny!  The  night  glasses  of  all  three  island 
forts  are  already  braced  on  us.  We  may  as  well  sink 
decently  and  in  order.  {Regarding  Raymond's  face 
curiously)  No,  this  is  not  the  face  of  a  changeling — - 
this  is  my  brother's  face. 

I  fear  so — always  the  same  old  face. 

A  pity — Well,  here  we  part,  for  good. 

Why  part  ? 

I  prefer  not  to  send  my  brother  dingle  dangle  from 
a  yard-arm;  and  I  don't  want  a  deserter. 

Oh  come! — deserter? 

Wasn't  there  a  clear  pledge  that  you  would  serve? 

Damme,  Geoffrey !  I'm  no  longer  in  the  cradle !  Are 
we  crossed  on  a  Government  commission  ? — No.  What 's 
our  errand?  I  have  it!  Cousin  Elise,  that  I  used  to 
gather  bait  with — the  light-foot  limpet-gatherer!  By  all 
accounts  she  has  no  lack  of  rescuers. 

I  go  to  lodge  at  my  old  lodgings — over  Nan's 
Tavern. 

Trust  me  with  an  attempt  on  Bonaparte's  head- 
quarters, and  I'll  serve !  Or  have  you  crossed  for  a  mere 
idea? 

Yes.  For  a  mere  idea.  I'm  not  on  a  military  cutting- 
out  expedition.  But  I'll  trust  you  with  this. — In  case 
things  miscarried,  I  needed  you  as  mate,  to  take  back 
charts  and  papers  on  board,  and  now  Jan,  your  stow- 
away. If  for  nothing  else's  sake  then  for  the  sake 
of  them  who  think  him  lost. 

Raymond  shakes  his  head. 

Master  Ray,  no  coltish  tricks! 

Still  the  colt,  you  see,  to  the  men  you  expect  me  to 
command.     By  Jove!     I'll  land  independently! 

(Pointing  up  the  cliff)  Up  with  you!  (Long  pause) 
Halt,  Ray !  Ray,  I'll  drop  the  skipper.  Mine  's  a  for- 
lorn hope,  that  I  can  neither  explain  nor  betray.  Could 
I  explain,  you  would  not  oppose.     Will  you  go  aboard? 

I  am  the  untrained  ignoramus — you,  the  eternal  stu- 
dent— Eight  years   between  us  two,   and  three  educa- 


12 


ACT  I.     SCENE  II 


Wick  ham 

Raymond 

Wickham 
Watt 

Raymond 

Wickham 


tions;  granted  to  you,  and  refused  to  me.  Though 
you'd  rather  be  nameless,  I  want  to  make  a  name.  May 
I  not  have  as  bold  a  plan  as  other  men — and  a  map  of 
the  batteries  sewn  in  this  waistcoat  pocket?  Five  nights 
hence  I'll  sup  in  Dover! 

Your  ghost  may  reach  Dover  in  a  buffet  of  sound! 
Supper  's  doubtful. 

To-night  I'll  dine  with  the  Tenth  legion.     (He  mounts 
the  rope  of  the  lantern,  hand  over  fist.) 
Take  these  pistols.     (Hands  the  pistols.) 
(To    Wickham)    You'll    be    unarmed,    sir — let    the 
cub  go. 

Thanks,  Watt!  (Taking  the  pistols)  Thanks,  Geof- 
frey.    (He  climbs  rapidly  out  of  sight.) 

(Half  to  himself,  looking  up)  He's  missed  his  foot- 
ing— done  for!  No,  he  's  round  !  By  Jove,  out  of  sight! 
I  hate  that  he  should  end,  hating  me  so.  After  all, 
others  like  to  answer  for  themselves,  as  well  as  I. 

A  gun  booms. 
(To  Watt)  Take  charge  of  all  aboard. 
,     Ay,  ay,   sir.     There'll  be  slippy  cracks  between  the 
slabs — what  light  will  you  have  along  the  beach  ? 

More  than  I  care  for,  Watt.  Ten  thousand  burning 
wrongs,  on  both  sides  of  the  water. 

He  stands  looking  up.    A  stone  falls  with 
a  paper. 
(Stoops  to  pick  it  up,  and  reads  it)    He  's  reached 
the  top.     Heigho! 

He  sighs;  and  departs  rapidly  round 
the  cliff,  disappearing  into  the  darkness 
to  the  zvestward. 


Wickham 
Watt 

Wickham 


Wickham 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 


Nan 


Wickham 

Nan 


Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 


Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 


Nan's  Tavern,  in  Boulogne,  on  the  quay. 

Wickham  is  looking  out  of  the  window  and  contemplat- 
ing the  noisy  forest  of  masts  outside. 

(Putting  his  fingers  in  his  ears)  Pity  you  live  in  a 
city,  Nan.  Plants  too  near  poison  each  other.  Give 
every  one  his  proper  patch  of  loneliness,  say  I!  (He 
returns  to  the  middle  of  the  room.) 

(Who  has  been  pouring  out  coffee)  I  let  you  sleep 
on  through  the  morning.  You  slept  right  through  the 
shipwright's  hammering  and  pile-driving.  I  came  in 
and  feasted  my  eyes  on  you,  my  lamb.  You're  brown — 
why  you  might  be  a  Corsair,  child? 

What!     Hasn't  shore-life  damaged  my  complexion? 

I  like  my  dreamers  to  be  of  bronze — and  not  dank  as 
though  they  were  grown  in  a  cellar.  Why  it  was  on 
you,  my  firstling,  that  I  spent  my  soul  of  nights — 
thought-reading  your  little  wizened  face.  Was  it  hunger, 
or  thirst,  or  wind  that  pinched  ye?  Who  was  there  but 
I  to  guess  what  you  wanted?  And  now  you  can  speak 
by  the  bushel.  And  that  \s  why  poor  old  Nan  can't  read 
your  face.     What  have  you  come  back  for? 

(Smiling)  Ah! 

In  these  wild  times,  through  the  blockade? — 

A  long  yarn,  Nurse. 

Ay,  and  I'm  going  to  have  it  .  .  .  You  got  the 
sealed  packet,  addressed  here  to  your  old  lodging,  and 
that  waited  here  so  long,  which  I  sent  across  by  a 
smuggler? 

Yes. 

You're  not  in  love — ? 

There  's  but  one  lady  in  all  Boulogne  for  me — But 
she  's  a  Catholic.    When  did  you  last  go  to  mass,  Nan? 

No  such  havers! — you've  not  crossed  to  see  me. 
Mass,  my  dear?     Not  so  often  as  I  ought.     It's  the 

13 


14 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 
Nan 


Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 
Nan 


steepness  of  that  Cathedral  hill — many  puffings — little 
strength — and  no  arm  of  yours  now  to  lean  on. 

My  mother  *s  unhappy  to  think  of  your  house  under 
our  English  fire. 

Ah,  your  mother!  What  battles  I  used  to  have  with 
her  over  you  all!  But  with  her,  that  was  so  gentle, 
Satan  himself  could  not  be  angry.  Is  she  still  crazed 
with  love  for  your  father?  My  God — to  leave  France 
to  follow  a  man! 

She  's  torn  between  two  countries.  Strange  to  wake 
here  in  my  old  lodging,  and  not  in  my  old  attic! 

All  the  winds  of  heaven  whistle  through  your  old 
attic.     The  hole  was  made  by  an  English  cannon-ball. 

Monstrous!     You  sent  in  a  claim  for  damages? 

0  ay — twelve  hundred  francs.  '  Sire,  I  am  a  poor  old 
woman '  .  .  .  .  Beautifully  written  it  was  .... 
1  This  is  your  Majesty's  war — but  the  State  's  hard  on 
us  poor   .    .    .' 

The  State   .    .    .  ha!  ha! 

But  the  State  *s  a  mighty  thing,  my  dear. 

Only  large-scale  housekeeping,  Nan. 

You  don't  set  much  store  by  the  State,  my  dear! 

1  shall,  when  it  lets  us  all  be  kings  and  queens.  Does 
Bonaparte  come  down  to  Boulogne? 

Often,  often!  Swings  in  over  the  cobbles  from 
Paris,  at  two  in  the  morning — at  the  gate  where  the 
Tree  of  Liberty  was  planted — in  his  great  Berlin  car- 
riage. The  sentries  see  him  working  inside — with  a 
lamp  behind  his  bed. 

Ah! 

And  sometimes  after  holding  two  reviews,  he  steals 
out  at  night — in  a  large  soft  hat — to  the  crossroad's 
chapel,  yonder  up  on  the  downs,  to  hear  the  hearsay  of 
the  fisher-folk.  .  .  .  But  why  have  you  come  over,  my 
dear?  Still  at  the  old  sea-survey,  with  your  leadlines 
and  instruments? 

Yes.  Come  to  work  here  quietly.  If  folk  remem- 
bered I'm  half  English,  they  might  grow  suspicious — 
send  me  inland  to  be  interned  at  Arras. 


Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 


Wickham 
Nan 


Wickham 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


15 


Nan 

Wickham 
Nan 
Wickham 

Nan 


Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 
Wickham 


Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 


Nan 

Wickham 

Nan 


Wickham 


Nan 
'Elise 


What  talks  we'll  have! 

Yes,  but  no  politics! 

Nor  of  politicians — 

Poor  creatures  that  bribe  us  with  mean  reasons  for 
taking  great  measures! 

'The  saving  of  France'  indeed!  What  do  they 
mean  when  they  talk  of  '  France  '  ?  Is  there,  my  dear, 
a  real  France? 

Yes,  Nan,  the  real  France  is  you! 

How  d'you  make  a  living  nowadays? 

I  make  nautical  instruments — and  instead  of  selling 
'em,  use  them  mostly  myself. 

And  that  packet,  that  waited  for  you  here  so  long? 

Years  ago  in  peace-time — the  days  of  the  Consulate 
— I  sent  in  to  the  Paris  Institute  of  Sciences  a  paper 
on  the  law  of  forecasting  Channel  tides.  Well,  that 
packet  was  an  answer!     It  invited  me  to  an  interview! 

But  the  delay,  the  delay !  The  Consulate's  gone  now ! 
How'll  you  be  received? 

Isn't  the  letter  of  invitation  a  sort  of  safe-conduct? 
Anyhow  I've  crossed  on  the  strength  of  it. 

They  may  call  you  a  natural  philosopher  for  know- 
ing the  currents  as  you  do — But  it 's  my  belief  you  were 
born  a  mackerel! 

Flatterer!     I'll  make  you  read  my  book  on  tides! 

Elise,  a  brilliant  lady,  and  General 
Dubois  enter.  They  talk  in  a  low  tone, 
seated  at  a  table. 

(Aside  to  Wickham)  There  's  your  cousin  Elise! 

£lise? 

Yes — she  's  gay,  but  she  's  a  kind  customer  to  me,  for 
old  time's  sake,  and  brings  half  the  town  here  for 
coffee. 

Hush!     I  want  to  meet  nobody. 

Nan  takes  coffee  to  £lise. 

Mademoiselle,  your  servant ! 

Dear  Nan !  General,  I  could  stick  a  pin  into  Nan  for 
jealousy !  She  's  so  young,  and  makes  better  coffee  than 
I  do.    And  she  's  all  the  mode ! 


i6 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


General  (To  Nan)  A  bottle  of  Chambertin,  Madame. 

Nan  retires. 
Elise  (In  a  withering  tone)  And  so  you're  going  to  marry! 

/  congratulate  you! 
General  Force  majeure!    Let  us  forget  it,  in  this  ante-chamber 

to  Paradise.     I  haven't  been  off  duty  in  the  saddle  for 
eighteen  months,   and  now   I'm   sitting  with  you.     It 
makes  one  tremble. 
You  interest  me. 
filise! 

Do  you  interest  me?     I  wonder.     What  sentimental 
cherubs  men  are!     Tumbling  back  over  the  clouds  of 
glory — What  fools,  we  poor  women! 
Why,  Elise? 

While  the  grossness  of  reality  stares  us  in  the  face — 
to  dream  that  you  can  have  for  us  more  than  a  mo- 
mentary kindness. — There  's  money,  of  course. 
What  is  money? 
Why,  I'd  sell  my  soul  for  it. 

No,  no,  you  would  not.     Come  to  the  big  and  bril- 
liant world!     Beauty  like  yours — 

I    know — my   eye 's   very  bright,   as  eyes   go  in  the 
provinces!     My  beauty!     If  you  knew  all  the  terrors 
it  creates  in  me !    Odds  gast  my  beauty,  who'll  take  care 
of  me  in  my  old  age? 
General  Elise! 

Elise  Tiens!    That   maid   of   mine! — What   carelessness — 

she'll  drive  me  mad !  (She  carefully  adjusts  a  curl 
before  a  hand-mirror,  and  in  a  larger  mirror  catches 
sight  of  Wickham.  As  Wickham  is  rising  to  go  out, 
£lise  recognises  htm,  starts  violently,  and  advances 
with  both  hands  out.) 
Haughty  creature,  you  were  going  to  cut  me! 
(Smiling)  I  was! 

Come  and  join  us.     (She  motions  him  to  her  table.) 
Wickham,  surprised,  bows,  hesitates, 
£lise  returns  to  the  General. 
Forgive  me,  General — a  near  relative ! 
General  I  suspect  relatives. 


Elise 

General 

Elise 


General 
Elise 


General 

Elise 

General 

Elise 


lilise 

Wickham 

Elise 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


i7 


Elise 

General 

Elise 

General 

Elise 


General 
Elise 
Wickham 
General 

Wickham 


Orderly 
Nan 


Orderly 


General 

Wickham 
Elise 


Wickham 
Elise 


Wickham 
General 


An  old  playmate. 

I  detest  old  playmates. 

Brought  up  to  the  sea. 

And  I  abhor  the  sea. 

A  genius  shipwrecked  on  a  desert  England!  (In  a 
lower  tone)  Nonsense,  I  haven't  seen  him  for  three 
years.  (Aloud)  General  Dubois,  my  cousin  M.  Wick- 
ham, (She  pronounces  it  ' Vicamp')  a  distinguished 
young  man  of  science. 

Charmed  to  extend  the  circle  of  my  acquaintance. 

When  did  you  escape  from  England,  Geoffrey? 

Quite  lately. 

Through  one  of  the  regular  escape-agents?  You  paid 
double  what  you  bargained  for,  I'll  warrant! 

You're  right  there,  sir. 

An  Orderly  in  a  military  cloak  enters 
with  a  letter.     His  cloak  is  wet. 

A  letter  for  la  patronne. 

(Takes  the  letter:  puts  on  spectacles,  and  reads)  My 
dears,  the  Head-quarter  Staff  are  going  to  look  into  my 
claim  for  damages.  (To  the  Orderly)  Coffee,  Mon- 
sieur ? 

Thank  you,  Madame. 

Nan  and  the  Orderly  talk  in  an  under- 
tone. 

(To  Wickham)  Have  you  seen  the  camps  on  the 
cliffs  yet? 

Not  yet. 

Two  mushroom  cities  sprung  up !  Ten  miles  of  merry 
little  thatched  huts,  with  streets,  and  gardens,  and 
canaries,  and  chapels,  and  even  their  camp-theatre, 
where  I  sometimes  act. 

You! 

And  look  at  the  harbour!  The  thousands  of  pennons 
all  waving — the  thousands  of  ships  all  heaving — with 
one  man's  heart! 

Whose? 

(Ironically)  You  must  understand,  sir,  that  ladies  in 
the  provinces  have  one  demi-god,  Napoleon. 


i8 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


£11 


ise 


General 
£lise 


'General 
Wickham 

General 


Wickham 
General 


Wickham 

General 

Wickham 


£lise 


What  a  mind!  What  an  artist!  Take  his  personal 
device — the  '  N  '  laurelled !  Match  me  that,  among  your 
Caesars ! 

Very  imposing  for  them  on  whom  it  is  meant  to 
impose ! 

General,  don't  be  an  iceberg.  Can  Goethe  match  his 
bulletins?  Epics — Iliads  in  brief — Rude  halting  sen- 
tences, but  every  halt  a  victory!  His  every  word  a 
decree!     Every  leaf  of  his  despatches,  a  laurel! 

Round  his  own  brows! 

He  has  mind.  Has  he  the  music  of  the  mind?  Or 
has  France  found  a  flawless  master? 

Flawless — no.  His  tactics  are  damned  poor.  Tactics 
don't  interest  him — he  prepares  far  too  little, — and  he  's 
personally  rash.  Take  his  habit  of  reconnoitring  alone 
at  night,  almost  in  the  enemy  lines. 

I  like  that! 

But  I  grant  you,  his  scale  of  strategy  's  superb ! — The 
feinting  this  way  and  that,  to  put  'em  off — {Waving  his 
wine-glass) — Egypt,  Ireland,  West  Indies,  and  then  the 
blow  at  the  enemy's  very  heart! 

And  the  enemy's  very  heart  is — ? 

Do  you  drop  from  Heaven,  sir? — London. 

Indeed  ? 

A  Guardsman  and  a  Marine  Guard 
enter.  They  sit  at  another  table  in  fa- 
tigued attitudes,  drinking. 

{With  a  nod  towards  them)  Do  look  at  my  audience 
yonder;  I  act  for  them!  I  am  fresh  back  from  re- 
hearsal. I  am  Bononia,  Goddess  of  Boulogne — wave  a 
scroll  to  the  Emperor  when  he  arrives,  and  repeat  the 
poetry  of  the  Prefect,  conceive  it!  {She  rises  and 
declaims:) 

*  Bononia,  daughter  of  the  marshes  drear, 

And  the  entire  department  of  the  Pas  de  Calais, 

Rejoice  at  your  august  presence. 

In  order  to  humble  the  overweening  British 

And  settle  peace  on  Earth 

God  created  Napoleon  Bonaparte;  and  then  rested/" 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


19 


General 
Elise 

Wickham 
General 

Wickham 

General 

Elise 

Wickham 

General 


Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 

General 


Wickham 
Elise 


General 
Elise 

General 


0  perfect,  perfect  Prefect! 

But  those  adorable  infantry !  How  simply  they  make 
love  to  me! 

The  men  are  keen  to  cross  the  water? 

{Pointing  out  of  the  window)  We  are  all  gay  as 
that  bunting — officially.     . 

And  you,  sir,  have  succeeded? 

{Modestly)  Ah,  well! 

Succeeded!  He's  to  be  married  to  an  heiress,  with 
a  wedding  gift  of  a  million  francs  from  the  Emperor. 

Why  end  there?  Field-marshal  may  blossom  into 
prince ! 

1  may  get  some  fiddling  little  duchy  down  in  Italy. 
Still,  we  are  slaves  who  can't  call  our  souls  our  own. — 
We  only  hope  he  's  got  one !  But  his  violent  caprice ! — 
Why  has  he  left  me  in  the  air  without  a  command? 

{To  Wickham)  The  dear  General  is  no  longer  in 
command  at  Dijon. 

Is  it  jealousy  or  promotion? 

Let 's  hope  it 's  the  fiddling  little  duchy ! 

But  after  all,  it's  only  the  bellows  of  war  blows  a 
man  to  white  heat!  War — the  great  lottery! — how  it 
quickens  the  pace!  You  gamble  on  the  crest  of  it.  A 
Turcoman  charge — {Gesture) —  and  you've  all  Europe 
in  your  haversack — or  a  grave  you  know  nothing 
about ! — War  's  natural! 

And  clumsy  as  nature! 

You  gallop  across  Europe  shouting,  '  Brotherhood ! 
Brotherhood ! ' — and  you  cleave  your  brother  from  nape 
to  middle!  Isn't  there  something  of  dingy  subterfuge 
about  the  mixture? 

Dingy  subterfuge? — Of  course!    That's  war. 

I  can't  see  the  fallacy,  but  I  smell  one!  {She  holds 
her  handkerchief  to  her  nose,  in  fairy  disgust.) 

Don't  be  jealous  of  me,  for  the  bauble  palaces,  stars, 
nor  even  kisses,  that  fall  to  me!  They  weren't  meant 
for  me. — They  are  for  the  legions  that  fell  at  my  side. 
I  am  the  chance  survivor — the  paltry  symbol,  that 
stands  for  them. 


20 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 
Elise 


Wickham 
Elise 


Wickham 
General 

Elise 

General 

Elise 

Wickham 

General 

Elise 

General 

Wickham 

General 


(Rising)  For  that,  sir,  I  salute  you. 

(Fanning  herself)  Mes  compliments,  General,  I  dis- 
agree! You  handle  masses,  and  you  think  in  herds. 
You  gallop  back  into  the  dark  ages.  Since  the  brute 
in  man  's  eternal,  come  let 's  adore  it!  Your  greed  's  for 
quantity. — Now  take  this  absurd  Cousin  of  mine!  He 
may  be  queer,  but  he  's  for  quality.  He  keeps  the  poise 
that  your  galloper  loses — 

filise,  filise! 

He  thinks  the  art  of  life  's  to  follow  field-paths.  His 
intoxication  is  perfect  sobriety — not  the  smoky  mind  of 
the  herd.  Ambition!  La!  He  is  more  ambitious  than 
you. — He  wants  nothing  less  than  the  air,  space,  and 
light  of  all  Nature;  but  himself  to  take  up  as  little  room 
as  possible.  He  drinks  pure  water,  eats  anything,  walks 
and  sails  much. — An  idea  strikes  him — the  texture  of 
light  in  a  valley;  the  shape  of  a  splash  of  water;  the 
perfection  of  two  and  two  making  four;  or  of  an  adjec- 
tive agreeing  with  a  substantive;  he  sits  down  on  a  sea- 
rock  or  country  wall — with  the  sheep-bells  clinking  in 
the  next  coombe — to  figure  it  out.  Looking  into  that 
gives  him  exquisite  pleasure,  that  makes  his  senses  grow 
finer;  costs  no  one  any  butcherly  discomfort;  and  kills 
off  no  friends  or  enemies  of  mine  in  droves.  (Raising 
her  glass  towards  Wickham)  This  rarefied  and  harm- 
less kind  of  gentleman  for  me! 

She  \s  roasting  me,  General,    filise,  have  mercy! 

(Angrily,  to  £lise)  You  presume  to  set  the  civilian 
against  the  soldier? 

Yes.  Let 's  confess,  General,  you  and  I  are  birds  of 
prey. 

And  this  sea-going  gentleman  is  Noah's  dove ! 

Submit  the  case  to  the  first  three  men  who  come  in. 

Nonsense,  I'll  be  off. 

By  God,  sir,  you  will  hear  the  verdict  out! 

Begin  with  the  two  yonder,  and  this  orderly! 

Done  with  you! 

Why  pit  one  against  the  other? 

I  insist.      (To  soldiers)    Tell  me  what  you  think — 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


21 


Guardsman 

General 
Marine 
Guard 
Guardsman 

General 

Marine 

Guard 


£lise 

Nan 
Elise 
Orderly 


Elise 
Orderly 


General 
Napoleon 


Which    is    the    finer    life,    the    soldier's    or    the    civil- 
ian's? 

Finer  life?  Hum!  A  cognac,  Madame!  If  the  sol- 
dier 's  in  the  Imperial  Guard,  why,  damme,  the  soldier's! 

(To  Marine  Guard)  What  say  you? 
^  Certainly  not  the  sailor's  if  he  's  got  to  teach  the  sol- 
dier how  to  row! 

(Drawing  his  pistol)  If  I  did  lose  an  eye  in  Egypt, 
my  pistol  eye  's  left. 

(Putting  up  pistol)    No  jokes,  men! 

Don't  the  fisherman's  courage  want  more  staying 
power  than  the  soldier's?  Ask  their  wives,  waiting  for 
'em  along  the  coast — bent  double  in  the  wind,  like  our 
trees — what  their  men  go  through,  year  in,  year  out! 
I'm  a  longshore-man  bred  myself. 

Hurrah!  Now  for  the  orderly.  (She  turns  to  the 
messenger,  who  has  been  standing  drinking  at  the 
bar.) 

The  poor  orderly  's  all  wet — his  horse  stumbled  in  the 
river. 

He  's  had  a  sousing — he'll  give  us  cooler  sense !  De- 
cide, sir! 

(Turning  half  round  with  coffee-cup  in  one  hand  and 
saucer  in  the  other)  Whom  do  the  men  themselves  prefer 
to  lead  them,  Mademoiselle?  Listen  to  their  talk,  about 
the  bivouac.  Is  it  the  hell-for-leather  leader  that  they 
trust?  No.  Is  it  the  bravest?  No.  It's  the  man  of 
judgement.  But  judgement  is  a  civil  quality — it  looks 
to  the  general  well-being — admits  benevolence,  humanity 
— and  (Bowing  to  £lise)  all  the  graces!  I  plump  for 
the  civil ! 

Bravo,  bravo!     Infinitely  obliged  to  you,  sir. 

But  (turning  wholly  round,  full-face,  and  addressing 
himself  to  the  General)  a  word  with  you,  sir.  (He 
leads  him  forward,  and  speaks  in  a  low  tone)  General 
Dubois,  why  are  you  not  at  Dijon? 

(Much  surprised)  My  God! — Napoleon!  Sire — (Is 
silent). 

General  Dubois,  why  are  you  not  at  Dijon? 


22 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


General 

Napoleon 

General 


Napoleon 

General 

Napoleon 


General 
Napoleon 


Napoleon 


'Officer 


{In  a  low  tone)  Sire,  you  relieved  me  of  my  com- 
mand at  Dijon,  and  I  came  to  Paris. 

You  have  doubtless  received  the  permission  of  the 
Minister  of  War  to  leave  Dijon? 

No,  Sire,  but  having  nothing  more  to  do  at  Dijon,  I 
came  to  Paris — and  from  Paris  here,  on  urgent  private 
affairs. 

Do  you  remember  the  two  windmills  of  Terlincthon? 
Sire —  ? 

You  have  a  bad  topographical  memory.  About  a  mile 
from  this,  there  's  a  grassy  hollow,  a  half-circle  under 
the  windmills  of  Terlincthon. 

Ah  yes,  I  remember — the  foundation  of  the  Legion 
of  Honour. 

Yes.  There,  a  twelve-month  ago,  under  the  eyes  of 
seventy  thousand  men,  I  fixed  on  your  breast  the  cross 
of  the  Legion.  But  if  (Looking  at  his  watch),  within 
two  hours,  you  are  not  on  your  way  back  to  Dijon,  I'll 
have  you  shot  there,  to-day,  under  the  eyes  of  the  same 
army. 

The  General  bows  and  goes  out.     Al- 
most   immediately    he    returns    to    the 
doorway  and  beckons  violently  to  Wick- 
ham,  behind  Napoleon's  back.    Wick- 
ham  follows  him.     One  of  Napoleon's 
Staff-Officers    enters    and  stands   in 
attendance.    Napoleon  turns  to  the  Sol- 
dier and  Marine  Guard. 
(Taking  each  by  an  ear)  Now  then,  my  lads,  soldier 
and  sailor,  squabbling  like  curs  and  sea-gulls,  under  the 
very  eyes  of  the  enemy  fleet?     Must  I  teach  fire  and 
water  to  mix?     Scuffle  no  more  or,  when  the  first  great 
action  's  afoot,  you'll  be  told  off  to  bed,  with  a  sucking 
bottle  apiece! 

Another  Staff-Officer  enters.    He  sa- 
lutes.   Several   old   men   come   in   after 
him. 
Good  heavens,  sir!     We  rode  up  to  the  West  Cliff 
camp  that  your  Majesty  was  to  inspect! 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


23 


Napoleon 


Officer 
Napoleon 


Old  Sailor 
Nan 

Napoleon 
Old  Sailor 
Napoleon 


Old  Sailor 
Napoleon 

Nan 
Napoleon 


Napoleon 

Nan 

Napoleon 

Nan 

Napoleon 


My  horse  tripped  on  a  cable  in  the  river — a  chain 
under  the  water,  mooring  the  prison-barges — I  got  a 
ducking.  Do  you  see  how  that  fellow  holds  himself? 
{Indicating  the  Marine  Guard)  I'll  bet  you  he  has  a 
weal  where  the  shoulder-strap  cuts.  Undo  the  strap! 
(Officer  obeys)  Look,  as  I  thought,  it  chafes. 

Your  Majesty  designed  the  uniform  yourself. 

But  not  that  strap,  fool !  Have  the  equipment  altered. 
{Turning  to  an  old  Sailor)  Ah,  I  remember  you.  I 
consulted  you  about  rowing,  you  old  conger  eel! 
Weren't  you  once  in  the  galleys? — a  galley-slave  on  a 
sheepskin,  chained  to  an  oar.  You  used  to  puff  your 
fleas  at  visitors,  through  a  little  whisk  of  paper,  eh? — 
Hou,  hou,  hou — like  that! 

{Falling  on  his  knees)    But  I'm  a  cooper  now,  sir. 

Ay,  he  's  a  cooper,  highly  respected. 

Ah,  but  is  he  a  good  cooper;  or  a  contractor? 

I  do  make  water-barrels  for  the  transports,  sir. 

I  thought  so,  a  contractor!  I've  seen  your  water- 
barrels  on  the  quay — they've  only  wooden  hoops — they 
leak! 

Only  a  very  little  leak,  sir ! 

Make  the  hoops  of  iron,  dear  Mr.  Cooper,  if  you  don't 
wish  to  go  back  to  a  sheepskin  and  a  paper  flea-trumpet. 

Oh,  your  Majesty,  don't  say  that! 

Ah,  Madame  of  the  house? 

Nan  curtseys.  Napoleon  offers  his  snuff- 
box to  Nan,  and  tries  to  take  some  himself, 
but  finds  it  wet,  and  shuts  the  box  with  a 
snap. 

Didn't  you  send  me  a  petition  for  damages  done  by  an 
English  cannon-ball? 

Yes,  your  Majesty,  this  bloody  siege  is  your  Majesty's 
siege,  not  my  siege — my  roof  's  ruined. 

Let  me  see  the  cannon-ball !  How  much  damage  did 
you  claim? — Twelve  hundred  francs? 

Twelve  hundred,  your  gracious  Majesty,  what  with 
the  roof  and  loss  of  lodgers — 

(To  the  Staff-Officer)  Pay  her  eight  hundred.    We 


24 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


Nan 
Napoleon 

Nan 


Napoleon 

Nan 

Napoleon 

Nan 

Napoleon 


can't  allow  for  the  loss  of  lodgers.  You  have  no  lodgers 
left? 

Only  one. 

Only  one?  And  he  doesn't  mind  cannon-balls. 
Where  is  he? 

Oh  a  shy  bear  of  a  young  man,  that  it'd  be  sheer 
cruelty  to  see.  He  only  likes  fishermen — and  hates 
politicians. 

Sensible  fellow!     What's  the  name  of  this  paragon? 
Wickham.     (She  pronounces  it  '  Vicamp  '.) 
Vicamp,    Vicamp?     A    sea    cartographer?     Wasn't 
there  a  Memorandum  on  Tides,  by  some  such  man? 

An  awkward  and  simple  young  man,  your  Majesty, — 
all  angles  and  calculations. 

I  rather  believe  in  awkward  and  simple  young  men — 
I  was  one  myself!  A  black  goat  may  give  white  milk. 
If  he  's  a  sea  cartographer,  he  \s  the  kind  of  exact  fellow 
we  want  nowadays.  (Turning  to  the  old  men)  Do  you 
sea-faring  men  know  him? 
M.  G.,  Sailor,  (Unanimously)  M.  Vicamp?  From  a  child,  sir.  All 
and  Pilot       his  life  he  's  been  alongshore  here. 

Napoleon  Let  me  see — (Consulting  a  green  note-book)  I  have  a 

review  at  three.  Send  M.  Vicamp  up  to  my  own 
baraque  at  five  o'clock,  Madame,  with  two  of  his  old 
fishermen  friends.  They  understand  beaching  boats  in 
surf  better  than  these  navy  fellows. 

Napoleon  again  tries  to  take  snuff  me- 
chanically; again  finds  it  wet,  and  snaps 
the  box.  He  passes  Elise,  who  darts 
at  him  a  killing  glance.  In  going  out 
Napoleon  looks  fixedly  at  her  before  he 
vanishes — there  is  a  breathless  pause. 

After  he  has  gone  all  the  men  follow 
him  out  up  the  road.  There  are  cries  of 
'  Vive  VEmpereur! '  in  the  distance. 
£lise  and  Nan  look  at  each  other  with 
a  look  of  overwhelming  significance. 
They  sigh  deeply. 
Nan  He  has  been  here,  and  he 's  sat  on  that  chair! 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


^S 


Elise 
Nan 


Elise 

Nan 
Elise 

Elise 

Wickham 


Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 


Wickham 

Elise 
Wickham 
Elise 
Wickham 


Elise 


Wickham 
Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 
Wickham 


Where  in  the  world  is  Geoffrey? 

(Dusting  the  chair  carefully)  It  must  never  be  used 
again!  What  a  mercy  Master  Geoffrey  wasn't  here!  I 
was  afraid  he  might  be  dragged  into  this  waste  of  war. 

What  greater  honour  could  befall  Geoffrey  than  to  be 
wasted  so?  D'you  think  I  am  likely  to  betray  that  his 
father  is  English? 

No,  my  dear,  you  were  in  love  with  him  yourself  once. 

Fal,  lal,  la !    Never  cared  a  rap  for  him ! 

Wickham  enters. 

Nannette,  let  me  tell  the  news!  Geoffrey,  why  did 
you  go? 

Your  friend  the  General  came  back  and  beckoned  me, 
— something  amiss.  He  has  been  suddenly  ordered 
away;  begged  me  to  give  you  his  last  messages. 

Gone — with  not  a  word  to  me? 

All  his  devotion! 

No  more  than  that?  Ah,  we  shall  have  reams  of 
explanation  by  the  next  courier!  I  am  sick  to  death  of 
these  orders  and  counter-orders  to  marionettes. 

(With  gentle  hesitation)  Boulogne  is  so  full  of 
gaieties,  Elise,  that  I  hardly  like  to  suggest — 

That  my  existence  is  futile.     Yet  one  must  exist. 

I  suppose  you'll  be  storming  London  next?    Yet — 

Yet  what  ? 

Why  not  come  to  shine  on  us  in  Kent?  *  Bid  her 
come,'  says  my  mother,  '  when  she  turns  to  us,  and 
wants  to  come.'  There  's  a  farm-house — a  maze  of  old 
apple-trees — and  there  's  my  mother. 

Ah,  your  mother !  She  's  the  page  at  which  the  book 
opens!  It  is  women  like  her  who  take  one  in  flank. 
(Musingly)  How  I  should  love  to  see  her  face  again! 

Nothing  easier ! 

No,  no,  I'm  a  Corsair  of  the  Boulonnais — all  for 
romance ! 

Is  there  no  romance  about  a  hearth?  Let  our  apple- 
trees  haunt  you! — Hark  ye,  Elise,  you  remember  Ray? 

(Laughing)  That  artist  in  crime? — My  twin  soul? 

Ray  's  over  here. 


26 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


£lise 

Wickham 
£lise 

Wickham 

£lise 

Wickham 


£lise 

Wickham 

lilise 

Wickham 

Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 


Wickham 
fLlise 

Wickham 
Elise 
Wickham 
Elise 


Wickham 
Elise 


{Suddenly  grave)  Then  it  was  Ray  I  caught  sight  of 
at  the  camp  theatre ! 

If  he  is  caught — will  you  stand  by  him? 

Ray? — My  word  I  will!  .  .  .  But  they'll  never 
catch  him. 

I  hope  not. 

And  now,  Geoffrey,  would  you  recognize  Napoleon? 

I  gave  him  despatches  once  in  Italy,  in  a  garden.  It 
was  a  night  with  a  full  freight  of  stars  overhead.  His 
elbows  were  by  a  guttering  candle  on  a  little  broken  stone 
table,  between  high  bay  hedges,  under  a  great  pine.  It 
was  a  troubled  mask,  of  mixed  hardness  and  desire — 
eyeballs  alive  with  threat.  More  will  than  intelligence,  I 
thought,  in  the  big  cheekbones.  But  what  a  smile ! — All 
boyish  sweetness! 

Well,  the  man  in  the  dripping  cloak,  who  was  at  your 
elbow  but  now — 

The  fellow  with  lank  hair,  and  voice  so  full  of 
assurance? 

Napoleon. 

Napoleon ! 

Napoleon. 

Impossible ! 

More!  The  little  man  with  the  dripping  cloak  has 
commanded  you  to  his  presence  at  five  o'clock  this 
evening. 

Commanded  me!    Why? 

With  two  of  your  old  sea-faring  friends — to  be  up  at 
his  own  baraque. 

Already?    Asks  for  me? 

Why  do  you  say  *  already  '  ? 

This  is  quick  work! 

You  enrage  me!  It  is  so.  And  what  would  I  not 
give  to  look  the  only  will  in  Europe  straight  in  the  eyes ! 
But  he  squanders  his  sovran  presence  on  my  cloud- 
witted  cousin. 

Curious  chance! 

And  you  stand  there,  stock-fish,  when  I  tell  you  the 
one  strong  man  takes  you  up ! 


ACT  I.     SCENE  III 


27 


Wick  ham 


Elise 
Wickham 
Nan 
Elise 


IVickham 
Elise 

Wickham 


Elise 
Wickham 

Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 

Wickham 

Elise 

Wickham 

Nan 

Wickham 


{Lightly,  being  reluctant  fully  to  confide  either  in 
Elise  or  in  Nan)  And  to  be  taken  up  by  the  one  strong 
man,  whether  Devil  or  all  Nature's  dancing-master,  is 
the  very  passion  of  the  weak-kneed! 

Dolt! 

If  I  must  face  him,  I'll  face  him.    I've  met  his  betters. 

Take  two  men  with  you  who  understand  the  beach. 

I  see.  You  despise  Napoleon  because  he  wishes  to 
make  use  of  you !  Oh  you  wild  shy  naturalists,  watchers 
of  the  eternal  order,  as  from  another  planet — 

Don't  be  too  hard  on  the  handful  of  us,  Elise! 

{With  intensity)  Chill  tribe  of  idealists!  What  care 
you  for  our  terrible  plight,  in  the  here  and  now? 

How  do  you  know  that  I  haven't  already  settled  to 
pitch  my  soul  to  the  devil  for  this  interview?  I  meant 
to  sup  with  him,  Elise,  even  before  he  invited  me. 

You  meant — ! 

I  meant  to  sup  with  him.  At  what  hour  did  you  say 
was  the  appointment? 

Five. 

Au  revoir,  ladies. 

What  will  you  do  between  this  and  five?  Pray? 
Grow  in  grace? 

I  shall,  may  be,  put  up  a  prayer  or  two. 

To  whom? 

No  one. — The  spirit  in  the  midst. 

And  what  shall  you  ask  for  ? 

Power. 

And  what  are  you  going  to  do  now,  my  son  ? 

Take  a  stroll  along  the  beach.  The  weather  wants 
watching,  and  there  's  a  boat  in  the  offing  that  has  her 
work  cut  out  for  her. 

He  goes  out. 


END  OF  ACT  I. 


Twenty-four  hours  elapse  between  the  close 
of  Act  I  and  Act  II. 


ACT   II 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


Napoleon 


Napoleon 
Meneval 

Napoleon 
Meneval 

Napoleon 


Napoleon's  Bedroom  in  his  Baraque. 

In  the  Baraque,  near  the  Signals  on  the  east  cliff  at 
Boulogne.  The  room  is  bare  and  simply  furnished. 
There  is  an  iron  bedstead  with  large  curtains  over 
it,  hung  from  a  point  in  the  ceiling  by  a  copper  gilt 
hook.  On  the  bed  are  tzvo  mattresses  of  horse-hair, 
two  very  hard  bolsters  (one  at  each  end),  no  pil- 
lows, two  blankets,  one  of  white  cotton,  and  one 
wadded  and  quilted  of  plain  green  Florence  silk. 
The  wall-paper  is  pink,  with  a  pattern  in  lace  and 
an  Etruscan  border.  The  washing-jug  and  basin 
ware  is  of  porcelain,  with  a  golden  fillet  and  an'  N 
patterned  on  it.     On  the  dressing-table,  rich  toilet 

articles. 
Napoleon  is  discovered  dressing.    Mamelouk  Rustam, 
his  Egyptian  valet,  in  Eastern  garb,  brings  in  his 
clothes  from  a  room  opposite  across  a  passage;  and 
lays  down  a  spare  cocked  hat,  black,  frayed  and 
worn. 
(To  Rustam   Mamelouk)    Send  my  secretary,  M. 
Meneval,  with  the  correspondence. 

Rustam  goes  out.     Meneval  enters,  car- 
rying a  portfolio. 
Are  they  gone  ? 

No,  they're  in  the  corridor.     They  don't  know  that 
your  Majesty  is  yet  returned. 

Some  naval  complaint,  I  suppose? 
An  urgent  memorandum,  with  suggestions  signed  by 
three  Admirals. 

If  it 's  written,  why  need  they  wait? 

31 


32 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


Meneval 


Napoleon 


Meneval 


Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 


Meneval 


Napoleon 


Meneval 
Napoleon 

Meneval 


In  case  your  Majesty  needs  explanation  on  any 
technical  point.  They  seemed  mystified.  I  soothed 
them. 

Keep  'em  mystified.  Am  I  here  to  explain  my  view 
to  a  set  of  sea-lubbers?  By  the  way,  Meneval,  who  is 
responsible  for  the  sorry  fowl  on  the  ceiling  of  the  next 
room?    This  is  a  plain  soldier's  hut. 

(Shocked)  Sorry  fowl,  sir?  It  was  the  architect's 
idea  of  an  eagle.  He  's  very  proud  of  it.  It 's  hovering, 
with  a  sheaf  of  lightnings  in  its  talons  and  its  beak 
towards  England — towards  your  Majesty's  star  of 
destiny. 

More  like  an  ostrich!  But  all  that  gilding  on  the 
clouds — masses  of  gilt — how  much  did  it  cost? 

(Producing  the  bill)  Here  's  the  bill  for  the  building 
of  the  Hut — eagle  and  gilding  of  clouds  included — h'm, 
h'm,  yes,  fifty  thousand  francs.  Architect  pressing  to 
be  paid. 

Ah,  I  thought  so!  Why,  with  that  gilding  I  could 
have  maintained  two  spies  in  Saxony.  I  won't  pay  for 
the  Hut  at  all!  or  it  shan't  be  paid  for  until  it  can  be 
paid  for  out  of  the  enemy's  exchequer. 

(Making  a  note)  '  To  be  paid  for  only  out  of  enemy's 
exchequer '  .  .  .  Which  enemy's  exchequer  did  you  say, 
sir? 

(Suspiciously)  Which  enemy's  exchequer,  sir?  Why, 
whichever  enemy  I  conquer  next,  sir.  (Rapidly  tossing 
over  the  correspondence)  This,  this,  this,  throw  away. 
This  ...  let  me  see  .  .  .  the  twenty-one  day  basket. 
This  report  from  Villeneuve  can  wait — I'll  sleep  on  it. 
He's  a  whining  dog  .  .  .  Read  the  fashionable  gossip 
from  Paris,  from  Madame  Thingamy. 

(Reading  to  himself)  H'm — h'm,  h'm   .    .    . 

Don't  miss  out  anything!  I  pay  artists  to  be  pleasant 
about  me ;  I  pay  her  to  be  unpleasant ! 

(Reading  the  letter)  '  Paris  is  leading  an  open-air 
'life  in  town;  but  the  leading  hostesses  refuse  to  appear 
'in  the  public  eye — and  only  turn  a  smiling  profile 
'towards  your  Majesty's   State  Balls.    Their  weapons 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


33 


Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 
Meneval 

Napoleon 
Meneval 

Napoleon 


'  are,  absence,  nonchalance,  and  an  exquisite  sense  of 
1  folly.    The  Faubourg  de  St.  Germain  toys  with  its  brief 

*  two  months  of  guarded  gaieties;  but  they  are  hidden 

*  from  strangers,  and  from  the  Imperial  Court.  The 
'great  Mogul  Ball  given  by  the  Duchesse  de  Grammont; 
1  the  Ruff  and  Stomacher  Ball  given  by  the  Comtesse  de 
'Chabrillan;  the  Watteau  Pastoral  Concert  for  charity, 
'  given  by  the  Comtesse  Renee  de  Beam,  allow  them- 
1  selves  to  be  glimpsed  at  and  desired  from  outside;  but 
1  the  Imperial  Chancellor  and  his  class  ' — 

The  Imperial  Chancellor  and  his  class! 

1 — are  not  invited.  The  tragedies  of  Corneille, 
'ordered  by  your  Majesty,  are  not  attended;  and  the 
'  heart  of  the  Faubourg  de  St.  Germain  is  as  usual,  a 
'  fortress  closed  against  the  Empress.' 

Stop !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  They'll  keep  away  from  me,  will 
they?  The  Faubourg  de  St.  Germain!  The  Faubourg 
de  St.  Germain!  {Stamps  with  rage.  Pause)  How 
long  do  insects  take  to  change  from  ignoring  to  adoring? 
In  six  months  the  gauzy  ladies,  with  their  exquisite 
sense  of  proportion,  will  be  crawling  like  toads  to  the 
Empress's  footstool !    On  with  the  correspondence ! 

Here  is  the  matter  of  the  Boulogne  College  students — 
keen  patriotic  boys. 

Couldn't  we  draft  an  order  forming  a  regiment  of  all 
the  students  of  the  district? 

I'll  tell  Berthier,  as  Chief  of  Staff,  to  draft  an  order. 

By  the  way,  old  Berthier  positively  looks  tired! 

He  let  drop  an  odd  remark  the  other  day. 

What! 

Regretting  the  Empire !  Pining  for  the  old  free  days, 
when  he  and  you  were  gay  subalterns  together. 

Gay?    /,  gay? 

1  Oh  for  those  old  charges  over  broken  bridges ! '  he 
said. 

Lodi,  eh? 

Yes.  For  him,  the  bugle  sounding  in  advance  always 
called  the  name  of  one  battle. 

One  battle?     I   know — Areola,   where   we   won  by 


34 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


Meneval 
Napoleon 


sounding  them  behind  the  Austrians.  Areola,  Areola, 
Areola! — Diable,  I'll  make  it  the  bugle-call!  We  must 
cheer  old  Berthier,  raise  his  salt-money,  marry  him  off 
well — tell  him  our  glory  is  but  beginning ! 

He  cares  not  a  fig  for  glory — '  Too  late  for  all  that ' 
he  says   .    .    .   Berthier  loves  your  Majesty. 

I  know.  I  was  only  jesting,  you  fool!  The  worst 
of  Berthier  is  he  has  no  ambition.  And  the  worst  of 
myself,  well,  I  was  born  to  make  enemies.  One  can't 
lay  out  Europe  in  fresh  flower-beds  for  nothing. 

There  *s  the  canal,  for  the  better  water-supply  of 
Paris — Chaptal's  idea. 

Excellent.  Tell  Chaptal  to  get  five  hundred  men,  and 
begin  work  on  the  following  day. 

Then  there  's  the  Seine's  overflow,  the  usual  tendency 
to  flood  Paris. 

Let  it  wait.    We  drink  oftener  than  we  drown. 

Then  the  map-boxes. 

What  map-boxes  ? 

Those  that  your  Majesty  ordered,  to  be  made  of 
acajou  wood,  in  three  compartments, — to  be  put  on 
trestles  for  the  travelling  library.  We're  in  a  great 
quandary  about  the  map-boxes. 

Good  heavens,  why? 

One  of  the  boxes  was  to  be  reserved  for  English  and 
Irish  maps;  but  the  Austrian  and  Saxon  maps  nearly  fill 
all  three.  D'Albe,  the  cartographer,  asks  shall  he  get 
a  fourth  box  made?  I  woke  the  fat  little  D'Albe  at  two 
in  the  morning  to  give  him  your  instructions.  He  only 
made  one  meek  complaint. 

That  fellow  's  getting  too  independent. 

The  English  coast-maps,  besides  being  few  and 
scanty,  are  obsolete.  The  Saxon  and  Austrian  ones  by 
Petri  are  good,  though  forty  years  old.  Was  it  worth 
making  a  fresh  box  for  the  English  maps? 

And  what  did  you  say  to  D'Albe  ? 

That  possibly  your  Majesty  would  need  the  English 
coast-maps  less  than  the  Austrian  ones. 

(After  a  pause)  Ah! — That  my  Majesty  would  need 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 
Meneval 
Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 
Meneval 

Napoleon 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


35 


Napoleon 


Meneval 
Napoleon 


those  of  the  Kentish  coast,  for  the  flotilla  and  Channel, 
less  than  those  for  an  Austrian  invasion? 

Meneval,  alarmed,  is  silent. 

How  discouraging  you  are,  dear  Meneval. — Of  course, 
with  men  of  your  piercing  wits  about  us,  we  and 
our  inmost  intentions  are  bare;  we're  naked  as  in  the  day 
of  judgement!  God's  eyes! — Naked  as  a  needle!  Still, 
spare  us,  humour  us!  Indulge  the  official  ostrich  with 
a  little,  little  play,  in  a  little,  little  sand ! 

I  do  most  numbly  protest,  your  Majesty,  I  hadn't  the 
ghost  of  a   .    .    . 

Perhaps  my  Majesty  will  need  the  English  maps  less? 
I  thought  we  had  here  over  ninety-three  thousand  men, 
along  twenty  miles  of  coast,  ready  to  be  launched  from 
new-dug  harbours  against  England  ?  How  long  did  our 
second  rehearsal,  of  embarking  the  entire  expedition, 
take  to  finish  yesterday? 

During  six  tides,  sir. 

Ah,  not  six  seconds,  just  a  wave  of  my  hand,  like  that? 

No,  six  tides. 

Ah  then,  I  totter  back  to  sanity!  Out  with  it!  You 
want  to  know  which  I'm  going  to  strike,  Britain  or 
Austria? 

I  declare  I  was  absolutely   .    .    . 

But  how  natural !  Your  eye  ranges  east  and  west, 
impatient  to  settle  the  fate  of  Europe.  I  should  have 
consulted  you !  Is  this  crossing  practicable  ?  England's 
a  heavy  thought! — The  richer  prey;  while  Austria's 
riper, — more  accessible.  And  Austria,  like  you,  is  im- 
patient.— England  is  impatient — to  know  how  much 
gold  they  will  have  to  squander,  keeping  armies  afoot. 

Sire   .    .    .    (Shrugging  his  shoulders  helplessly.) 

Well,  my  dear  Meneval,  you're  perfectly  right,  things 
are  in  the  balance!  A  fly  alighting,  a  hair,  a  feather, 
would  tilt  it  one  way  or  t'other.  (Pause)  One  way  or 
t'other  the  eagle  will  come  down  from  the  ceiling.  I 
fear  I  can't  quite  satisfy  any  of  the  three  of  you.  Still, 
you  can  give  to  Austria,  and  to  England,  invaluable 
advice!     Let  'em  take,  each  of  them,  a  daisy — Oh,  a 


Meneval 
Napoleon 
Meneval 
Napoleon 


Meneval 
Napoleon 


Meneval 
Napoleon 


36 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


paper  daisy  will  do! — Pluck  it,  each  of  them,  with  the 
trembling  hand  of  a  Marguerite  in  anguish,  petal  by 
petal — He  loves  me,  he  loves  me  not — yes,  no,  yes,  no — 
up  to  the  last  petal's  most  anxious  flutter,  eh?  Just  so, 
dear  Meneval,  Austria  and  England  will  arrive  at  an 
idea  (though  I'm  afraid  only  an  approximate  idea)  as 
to  which  empire  I  am  going  to  invade!  .  .  .  (Pause) 
And  then,  what  a  comfort,  eh?  You'll  be  able  to  pay 
for  my  gilt  clouds ! 

Believe  me,  your  Majesty,  I  am  heart-broken  .    .    . 

My  dear  ass ! — On  with  the  correspondence. 

(Shakily)  Then  there's  the  matter  of  the  Boulogne 
College  students — (Sobs). 

Nonsense ! 

The  Boulogne  College  students  (Gulps) — The  Bou- 
logne College  students — (Pulling  himself  together) 
They're  keen,  patriotic   .    .    .    (Stops) 

(Kindly)  No,  we've  dealt  with  all  that.  By  the  way, 
this  I'll  tell  you:  you  won't  have  long  to  wait:  the  eagle 
will  be  down  from  the  ceiling  in  a  week. 

A  week! 

Within  a  week. 

Well,  your  Majesty's  war-dogs  are  always  in  good 
fettle. 

Would  to  God  they  were !  Why,  look  at  Caulaincourt 
and  Madame  de  Canisy!  Even  the  faithful  Duroc  has 
an  affair  with  La  Bigottini;  Berthier's  making  an  idiot 
of  himself  over  Mademoiselle  Visconti;  Chaptal,  my 
gunpowder  and  beetroot-sugar  man,  instead  of  attend- 
ing to  canals,  is  neglecting  them  for  an  opera-dancer. 
Finally,  when  I  moved  Dubois  from  Dijon  I  find  him 
here  without  orders,  on  the  same  tack.  It 's  no  good, 
they  want  to  live  soft.  Nothing  will  cure  them  but  the 
bivouac.  My  men  were  born  round  the  bivouac — 
'Sdeath !  I'll  keep  'em  there  till  they  die ! 
Enter  Rustam  the  valet. 

(To  Meneval)  If  you  please,  Monsieur,  a  lady  to  see 
the  Emperor. 

Her  name  ? 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 
Meneval 


Napoleon 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 


Valet 
Meneval 


ACT  II.     SCENE  I 


37 


Valet 
Meneval 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Valet 
Napoleon 


She  will  not  give  her  name.  She  is  well-bred,  well- 
dressed. 

But  she  has  no  appointment.  How  old  is  she? 
{Aside)  Can  it  possibly  be  Mademoiselle  George  of  the 
Opera  ? 

Napoleon  wheels  round  indignantly,  and 
glares  at  Meneval. 

No,  she  wouldn't  come  unless  sent  for.  Will  you  see 
her,  Sire? 

Does  she  bring  her  yellow  ticket  with  her?  Who  let 
the  cursed  baggage  past  ? 

The  naval  officers  in  the  passage  gave  her  their  turn. 

Ah!  Didn't  I  say  so?  They're  trying  to  watch  her 
effect  on  me !  Show  the  woman  in !  I'll  teach  the  grin- 
ning fools  a  lesson ! 


ACT  II.    SCENE  II 

A  Corridor  in  the  Baroque. 

It  is  the  wall  of  the  Corridor  outside  Napoleon's  bed- 
room. The  corridor  leads  on  the  right  into  the 
unseen  Council  Chamber. 

The  Admirals  can  see  through  the  door  into  the  Council 
Chamber. 

1st  Admiral  She  's  gone  on  ahead  of  us.  There  's  the  valet  crossing 
the  passage  with  his  master's  clothes. 

2nd  Admiral  How  the  master  chills  me  to  the  marrow!  The  mere 
wash  of  his  bows  pushes  one  off,  like  that. 

yd  Admiral  Think  of  the  way  he  's  got  to  keep  on! — through  ice 
and  fire. 

2nd  Admiral  Give  him  sea-room  then.  Pay  out  rope  to  his  vanity. 
A  coil  o'  rope  is  what  it'll  come  to. 

yd  Admiral    Vanity?    Be  just.    Hasn't  he  earned  a  right  to  vanity? 

2nd  Admiral  Look  at  the  coquetry  of  riding  in  the  mass  of  a  bril- 
liant staff,  in  his  shabby  coat  without  a  star,  and  a  bat- 
tered old  green  hat !  Why  the  hell  can't  he  wear  a  clean 
uniform  with  braid,  like  the  rest  of  us,  and  have  done 
with  it?    No,  he  must  shine  by  not  shining. 

1st  Admiral  Yes,  and  look  here,  how  he  takes  care  to  date  all  his 
notes  to  me,  2  a.m.  or  1.45  a.m. !  He  must  impress  one 
with  his  night-industry,  eh? 

yd  Admiral  Yes,  but  I  know  as  a  fact,  he  was  up  in  the  saddle 
at  2.45  a.m.  He  must  be  made  of  cast-iron  merely  to 
stand  it. 

1st  Admiral  Appearances,  appearances,  appearances,  my  dear 
fellow ! 

2nd  Admiral  I  wonder  where  the  devil  he  's  putting  in  an  appear- 
ance now. — Popping  up  here,  there,  and  everywhere, 
just  to  create  an  impression! 

yd  Admiral  Never  mind,  in  one  thing,  we're  to  the  windward  of 
him.    Think  of  his  pitiful   life  among  your   lawyers, 

38 


ACT  II.     SCENE  II 


39 


police,  and  politicians — with  a  bomb  under  his  carnage 
to  the  Opera!  After  all,  we  have  free  salt  water,  and 
the  finest  of  company. 

The  ist  and  2ND  Admirals  laugh  and  nod. 

1st  Admiral  I  can  understand  a  man  wholly  a  soldier — wholly 
a  bourgeois — wholly  an  artist — or  wholly  a  thief.  But 
this  prismatic  polygon  of  a  fellow  wants  to  sparkle  all 
round.  The  gunner  claims  to  be  a  lawyer — takes  credit 
for  the  Code  Napoleon,  which  was  really  got  ready  by 
the  Directorate. 

3rd  Admiral  Damn  it  all,  gentlemen,  he  did  butt  into  the  legal  dis- 
cussions. He  found  the  Code  cut  and  dried,  sleeping 
on  official  shelves.  '  Lazarus,  come  forth ! '  he  said,  and 
issued  the  Code.  Let  him  brand  his  '  N  '  on  it  if  he 
likes. 

1st  Admiral  No,  no.  When  the  last  sign-post  comes,  where  the 
roads  fork,  and  he  leaves  his  own  sacred  path  to  follow 
the  path  of  France,  then  I'll  believe  in  him!  But  until 
then,  observe  what  he  calls  his  passion  for  organization! 

3rd  Admiral     What's  that? 

2nd  Admiral  Shifting  an  opponent  he  fears,  from  a  post  in  which 
he  's  a  life-long  expert,  to  another  post  in  which  he  's  an 
infant,  and  has  to  begin  again  at  ABC.  That 's  how 
he  paralyses !    Brand  his  *  N  '  on  that ! 

3rd  Admiral  You're  too  hard  on  him.  He  's  the  elect  of  France! — 
why  should  we  know  what  he  's  after?  No,  but  in  one 
thing  I'm  with  you  fellows.  His  ignorance  of  the  sea 
is  terrible.  Did  you  see  his  order  about  rounding  the 
Fort  de  Croy? 

1st  Admiral      And  his  notion  of  manoeuvres  in  a  tideway! 

3rd  Admiral  That's  why  I'm  here  to-day.  Since  poor  Bruix  died, 
there  's  no  one  to  stand  up  to  him.  He  comes  to  us 
who've  been  cradled  in  service  on  these  waters,  and  tells 
us 

2nd  Admiral  Why,  there  is  Napoleon,  look! — through  the  glass 
door. 

3rd  Admiral     That 's  the  Council  Chamber.    He  's  receiving  the  lady ! 

2nd  Admiral    She  's  opened  all  her  batteries. 

3rd  Admiral     No  use! 


4o  ACT  II.     SCENE  II 

2nd  Admiral    What  is  she  saying? 
ist  Admiral      She  's  trying  another  tack ! 
3rd  Admiral     She  's  making  no  headway. 
2nd  Admiral    Yes,  she  is — look  at  that! 

1st  Admiral      I    don't    know — Watch    him!     Watch    him!     Play- 
acting! 
3rd  Admiral     I  think  she  's  carried  it. 
2nd  Admiral    Here  comes  the  private  secretary! 

Enter  Meneval. 
Meneval  Is  it  possible  that  you  three  gentlemen  have  been  kept 

waiting?    I  gave  your  memorandum  in  some  time  ago. 
ist  Admiral      Oh  it 's  nothing — a  few  remarks  we  scribbled  down. 

No  hurry.     I  dare  say  he  's  read  it,  and  half-a-dozen 

others  by  this. 
Meneval  You  have  some  criticisms  to  make  on  the  flotilla  and 

crossing? 
3rd  Admiral     Mere  suggestion.    We  don't  press  it  if  he 's  busy. 
Meneval  Could  you  give  me  the  gist  of  it? 

ist  Admiral      His  Majesty  once  had  the  flotilla  out  manoeuvring 

against  poor  Bruix's  orders,  you  remember?     It  was 

blowing  up  for  wildish  weather. 
Meneval  Well  ? 

ist  Admiral     D'you  remember  the  beach  next  morning?     Strewn 

with  poor  fellows'  corpses  .    .    . 
3rd  Admiral     The  gist  of  it  is,  weather's  everything!     If  we're  to 

keep  two  or  three  thousand  boats  together,  we  and  no 

soldier,  must  choose  the  day. 
Meneval  Then  tell  him  so.    Plain  speaking  's  his  staff  of  life. 

ist  Admiral      Is  it? 

3rd  Admiral     Remember  Bruix — never  forgiven. 
Meneval  He    forgives  the   opposer,    even  when   the   expert's 

proved  utterly  wrong ! 
ist  Admiral      But  does  he  forgive,  when  the  expert 's  proved  right? 
Meneval  Why,  he  's  the  very  image  of  docility!    His  complaint 

to  me  is  that  he  has  to  do  his  own  criticism.     *  Tear  to 

pieces  for  me  this  padded,  official  lingo!'  he  says.     I'll 

go  and  see  if  he  's  ready.     (Going.) 
2nd  Admiral     (Laughing)   Five  minutes,  and  I  see  the  image  of 

docility  chasing  us  round  the  table ! 


ACT  II.    SCENE  III 

The  Council  Chamber  in  Napoleon's  Baraque. 

The  Council  Chamber  at  the  end  of  Napoleon's 
Baraque,  facing  the  sea.  The  room  is  semicircular; 
a  half-circle  of  windows  looking  over  the  Channel. 
The  scene  is  beheld  from  the  bay  of  these  windows. 
The  walls  are  papered  in  light  grey  silvery  paper. 
There  is  a  large  map  of  the  Channel  on  the  back 
wall;  on  the  ceiling  are  gilt  clouds  and  an  eagle 
holding  a  sheaf  of  lightnings  and  guided  towards 
England  by  a  star — the  Emperor's  star  of  destiny. 

A  big  telescope  stands  in  a  curve  of  the  bow  windows, 
facing  the  Channel  and  the  spectators.  There  are 
three  doors  in  the  hinder  wall:  one  small  one  to  the 
left  leading  into  Napoleon's  bedroom;  in  the 
middle,  folding  doors,  lofty,  wide  and  open — look- 
ing down  the  passage  where  the  Admirals  have  been 
waiting  and  can  still  be  seen.  The  third  door,  to 
the  right,  matches  the  first,  and  leads  into  the  Em- 
peror s  clothes-room. 

On  a  large  oval  table  covered  with  green  fringed  cloth, 
and  strewn  with  goose-quill  pens  of  all  sizes,  are 
a  sandbox  and  six  silver  candlesticks. 

Napoleon  is  sitting  at  the  end  of  the  table,  in  a  green 
morocco  arm-chair — the  only  chair.  He  is  reading 
the  '  Moniteur'  newspaper  in  such  a  manner  that 
he  can  be  watched  through  the  glass  doors  by  the 
Naval  Officers  down  the  passage. 

£lise  enters  through  the  wide  central  doors.  She  makes 
a  quick  step  or  two  forward  towards  Napoleon; 
stops  with  dismay,  seeing  him  reading;  and  looking 
round,  perceives  that  an  Usher,  who  has  shown  her 
m,  remains;  next,  sees  all  the  sweep  of  lighted 

41 


42  ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


windows;  next,  the  Officers  down  the  passage.  All 
is  visible  and  exposed.  She  had  hoped  for  more 
privacy.  She  makes  a  bold  plunge  and  advances  to 
the  end  of  the  table,  facing  Napoleon. 

£lise  (Curtseying  deeply)  I  push  past  the  archangels,  and 

make  straight  for  omnipotence   .    .    . 
Napoleon  (Not  looking  up)  Your  name,  Mademoiselle? 

Elise  1  was  that  poor  player  who  addressed  you,  as  the 

Goddess  Bononia,  last  night,  at  the  camp-theatre   .    .    . 
Napoleon  Ah!     (Still  reads.) 

Blise  And  before  that  I  met  and  heard  you — O  what  it 

meant  to  me — in  the  tavern ! 

Napoleon  still  reads.    Throughout  the  in- 
terview Napoleon,  intending  that  the  Ad- 
mirals shall  watch  him,  meets  the  appeals 
of  Elise,  first  on  one  side  of  the  table, 
and  then  on  the  other,  by  shifting  his  atti- 
tude and  his  newspaper. 
I  have  an  introduction  to  you  from  an  ambassador — 
but  I  haven't  brought  it — For  as  you  went  out  through 
the  tavern-door  ...  it  seemed  that  .    .    .  well,  what 
can  one  say? 
Napoleon  Proceed. 

£lise  (Goes  to  the  side  of  the  table.     Napoleon  does  not 

look  up)  That  I  might  regard  your  Majesty  as  a  .  .  . 
friend.  You  have  thrown  an  idle  compliment  to  the 
actress.  You  were  not  wholly  displeased  with  the 
woman   .    .    .   Well   .    .    .   I  am  here! 

Napoleon   shifts  his  paper   to   one  side. 
Elise  retires  to  the  foot  of  the  table. 
Napoleon  Anything  else? 

Blise  One  word.     I  have  two  cousins  here.     To  the  elder 

your  Majesty  granted  an  interview  yesterday.  The 
man  's  unusual — he'll  say  nothing  of  himself — he's  like 
a  deep-sea  cable,  no  end  of  him  hanging  out  of  sight. 
Don't  be  put  off  by  that.  He  has  devoted  twelve  years 
to  mapping  the  Channel.  To  France  his  maps  would 
be  invaluable. 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


43 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 


en 


ise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 

Napoleon 


I  am  obliged  for  your  suggestion,  ma'am.  Anything 
else? 

You  have  dismissed  my  friend,  General  Dubois,  God 
knows  whither — ruined  probably  .  .  .  but  it  was  your 
hand  that  did  it. 

Go  on! 

We  know  that  you  are  inwardly  humane.  They 
say,  '  Cross  your  ambitions,  and  you  are  deaf  to 
mercy ! '   .    .    . 

Deaf  as  the  tomb! 

Deaf  as  the  tomb !  Ah !  I  know  better,  Sire !  It 
was  I  who  forced  Dubois  to  come  here,  to  tell  me  of  his 
marriage.  The  fault  was  mine.  Tell  me  how  this  man 
Dubois  may  retrieve  himself,  and  win  your  favour. 

What? 

Take  me,  and  pardon  him!  Forgive  my  boldness! — 
It  was  your  glance  that  set  me  on  and  inspirited  me. 
Let  me  save  this  man's  career  for  France;  let  me  save 
it  for  you!  His  ruin  can't  be  clenched  past  retrieval. 
I  have  but  a  minute  to  speak  in — I  shall  sink  back  again 
into  the  crowd,  never  fear — nameless  and  defenceless — 
for  who  can  suddenly  protect  any  generous  woman 
against  herself?  But  you  yourself  are  the  man  I  have 
worshipped !  Take  me,  and  use  me  as  you  will,  so  that 
the  service  be  dangerous! 

{After  a  pause)    Are  these  the  only  impulses  you 
have,  in  coming  to  see  me,  ma'am? 

Impulses!  Lord,  I  have  a  parliament  of  impulses, 
that  can't  hear  themselves  speak!     All  my  life  I  have 

been  seeking  the  heroic Take  me  up  as  a  sword 

and  use  me!     Has  a  woman's  mind  no  edge? 

Is  this  your  business? 

{Changing  her  position  to  the  other  side  of  the  table) 
No,  no,  much  else  ....  But  if  my  presence  irks  your 
Majesty —     {She  smiles  inquiringly) 

Dubois  has  been  disgraced  for  a  fault. 

Who  is  not  faulty?  We  recognize  men  as  real  by 
their  faults. 

The  relevancy  of  your  remarks  escapes  me,  ma'am. 


44 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Elise 


Napoleon 


£lise 
Napoleon 
Elise 
Napoleon 

Elise 

Napoleon 

Elise 

Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 

Napoleon 
Elise 

Napoleon 
Elise 

Napoleon 


£lise 


Why  did  you  look  at  me  so  poignantly  then;  and 
refuse  to  look  at  me  now?  Why  do  you  direct  the  con- 
versation like  a  manoeuvre?  No  matter  what  warmth 
of  heart  we  fling  at  your  feet!  Are  we  just  the  cold 
statistics  out  of  which  you  build  your  plans? 

If  in  war-time  people  were  more  than  statistics  to 
me,  ma'am,  the  solidest  brain  could  not  stand  it.  I 
cannot  have  my  hours  invaded  by — interesting  affairs 
of  the  heart. 

0  my  heart — poor  heart — can  take  care  of  itself ! 
Are  you  married,  Madame? 

It 's  a  stage  we  poor  women  have  to  go  through. 

1  should  advise  you  to  renew  your  friendship  with 
General  Dubois. 

Who  has  been  provided  with  one  of  the  heiresses  of 
France,  as  with  a  kind  of  top-dressing  for  light  soil. 

Perhaps,  perhaps!  He'll  not  marry  till  peace  is 
signed.     Meantime — 

I've  been  hungry  for  heroism. — Well,  I  must  swallow 
my  hunger! 

Is  there  anything  else? 

Yes,  one  thing  important  to  you.  (She  hesitates)  My 
other  cousin  ...  a  younger  brother  of  the  first  .  .  . 
whom  I've  known  since  we  climbed  apple-trees  to- 
gether  .    .    . 

Well? 

I  hardly  like  to  trouble  you  with  it — but  the  boy  has 
got  into  a  scrape — 

What  for? 

Folly — Talking  of  the  '  writing  on  a  wall  against  the 
tyrant ',  or  prattle  of  that  kind. 

No  more? 

Well,  if  he  had  drunk  more  wine  no  doubt  he  would 
have  said  more. 

The  '  writing  on  a  wall  against  the  tyrant '  comes  in 
by  every  courier.  Oblige  me  by  communicating  the 
matter  to  the  General  commanding  the  Fourth  Army 
Corps,  General  Soult.    His  head-quarters  are  outside. 

How  well  I  know  those  head-quarters!    Unhappily  I 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


45 


Napoleon 
£lise 

Napoleon 

Elise 
Napoleon 

£lise 

Napoleon 
Elise 

Napoleon 

Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


Napoleon 
Elise 


have  reason  to  suspect  the  boy  's  been  employed  by  a 
member  of  your  head-quarter  Staff! 
Pish! 

Ah !  You  accept  no  service  even  from  the  humblest 
of  your  admirers? 

Yes,  service  through  the  ordinary  official  channels. 
But  with  all  admiration  I  can  dispense. 

You  choose  to  remain  in  ignorance  ? 

In  some  dangerous  places  there  are  few  things  more 
valuable  than  ignorance,  ma'am. 

I  see.  I  am  a  thing,  wicked,  stupid  and  vain,  as  the 
swans  you  play  with  outside? 

I  distrust  superior  women,  Madame. 

What  do  you  know  of  me? — Nothing.  What  are  you 
willing  to  know  ? — Nothing. 

I  like  women  to  confine  themselves  to  the  purposes 
for  which  they  were  created ! 

(Rising)  What!  The  milky  purposes?  But  I  am  a 
woman  who  has  nursed  your  wounded,  and  sat  all  night 
on  the  battle-field  beside  your  dying — when  the  round 
shot  came  whooping  overhead. 

Indeed ! 

Do  I  come  to  pay  court  to  Caesar?  Why,  I've  seen 
writing  on  the  wall  myself!  One  of  those  shot  fell  on 
the  convent  we  had  turned  into  a  hospital.  When  I  got 
back  to  my  hospital  from  the  field,  I  found  it  empty — 
all  the  wounded,  helpless  and  legless,  had  risen  from 
their  beds  and  fled.  Not  a  sign  of  them!  But  low 
down,  low  down,  near  the  floor,  all  down  the  white 
walls  of  the  corridor,  there  were  red  finger-marks, 
where  the  crawlers  had  dragged  themselves  away.  That 
was  writing  on  the  wall  some  could  understand !—  But 
what  are  the  wounded  of  the  world  to  you! 

Napoleon  smiles. 

I  regret,  Madame,  that  my  time  is  limited,  and  my 
patience  human. 

(With  scornfulness)  Human,  no!  I  came  here  to  ask 
a  favour  on  behalf  of  a  boy — Adieu,  Sire!  You  who 
are  deaf  as  the  tomb,  and,  may  be,  as  barren;  who  never 


46 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 

Usher 
Napoleon 


Napoleon 


will  look  into  the  eyes  of  love — Good-bye!  .  .  .  {She 
curtseys  profoundly)  There  are  some  wounds  which  are 
ineffaceable,  and  yet  are  to  be  prized,  infinitely  prized. 
This  interview  with  your  Majesty  will  always,  for  me, 
be  one  of  them ! 

She  sweeps  out. 

As  Elise  goes  out,  she  is  heard  to  mutter 
something. 
(To  Usher)  What  did  the  alluring  lady  say  as  she 
went  out? 

She  said,  '  He  never  shall  fall  into  those  hands! ' 
(Pacing  up  and  dozvn)  Take  her  address.     So  much 
temperament  to  deploy — might  be  damned  useful. 

Meneval  enters,  and  admits  the  Admirals. 
The  Usher  goes  out. 
Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  gentlemen.  Inside 
that  door  (indicating  the  door  to  the  right)  is  the  man 
whose  paper  on  Channel  tides  you  recommended  to  me 
last  year.  Personally  I  hate  making  changes,  being  bred 
in  the  artillery  where  they're  too  expensive,  but  a  coast- 
survey  we  must  have. 
2nd  Admiral  Yes.  A'  meridian  kept  in  every  town,  and  every  fall 
of  cliff,  and  loss  of  shore,  registered. 

He  tells  me  that,  thanks  to  wind  and  sea  and  the 
neglect  of  the  house  of  France,  we've  lost  a  harbour  here 
to  match  the  roads  at  Dover! — Two  long  capes  used  to 
run  out — that  are  now  sand-shoals  or  sand-dunes  blow- 
ing inland  over  our  fields  of  clover.  Meneval,  the  Ad- 
mirals would  like  to  hear  M.  Vicamp's  observations  on 
their  paper. 
Much  honoured. 

Meneval  admits  Wickham,  who  enters 
with  a  cheerful  gait  and  steady  eyes. 
Meneval,  you  can  leave  us. 

Meneval  goes  out. 
Vicamp,  you  represent  science;   enlighten  us  on  the 
Admirals'  note. 

I  know  nothing  of  Armadas.     Does  your  Majesty 
seriously  want  a  layman's  opinion? 


Napoleon 


Admirals 

Napoleon 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


47 


Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


yd  Admiral      (Interrupting)  On  the  tides,  sir. 
Napoleon  Given  good  weather,  are  the  tides  here  so  grave  a 

matter? 

I  take  it  you  must  cross  orderly, — all  your  eight 
squadrons — division  by  division;  each  boat  of  the  two 
thousand  four  hundred  following  its  flag-boat? 

Yes. 

Well,  your  main  difficulties  would  be  two: — The 
tide's  unpunctuality;  and  the  strangeness  of  the  current 
here. 

Can  you  explain? 

You  would  have  to  cross  on  a  flood-tide  up  Channel. 
But  it  is  never  punctual.  It  seems  all  vagary — comes 
swirling,  ragged,  chaotic — sometimes  kept  back  for 
hours  by  strong  winds,  or  some  ground-swell  in  the 
Atlantic  hanging  on  its  skirts.  Sometimes  it  will  make 
twice  as  fast  as  at  others.  It  streams  up  Channel  at 
three  knots  an  hour — passes  Dover  for  five  hours — halts 
eight  minutes — then  for  seven  hours  sinks  back  down 
Channel. 

Halts  eight  minutes,  you  say? 

Yes. 

Why  not  aim  at  landing  in  those  eight  minutes  of 
slack-water? 

(Smiling)  Oh  ho!  There's  never  slack-water  at 
Dover!  For  there,  the  streams  from  North  Sea  and 
Channel  meet.  They  churn  you  always  a  wild  reel — like 
a  witch's  dance! 

Well,  and  what  of  the  currents  here,  you  spoke 
of? 

What 's  the  shape  of  the  flood  your  boats  have  to 
cross  on?  You  will  guess  it  flows  fastest  mid-stream? 
The  middle  water  ahead  of  the  water  inshore? 

Naturally. 

Here  at  Boulogne  it  is  never  so.  The  head  of  the 
main  Channel-stream  becomes  concave — breaks  into 
indrafts,  eddies,  and  races, — takes  the  shape  of  the 
sweep  of  coast  it 's  gone  past. — 

And  the  result? 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 


48 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Admirals 
Wickham 


Every  strip  of  shore  has  its  pilot's  rule  of  thumb. 
Its  pilot's  secret: — of  which  I  find  here  {tapping  the 
Admirals'  note)  no  mention. 

What 's  the  rule  of  thumb  here? 

That  here  the  flood  comes  first  alongshore,  and  the 
mid-stream,  out  at  sea,  much  later.  For  instance,  that 
little  sloop  (pointing  forward,  out  of  the  window)  far 
outside  the  Baas  sandbank  will  swing  round  with  the 
flood  three-quarters  of  an  hour  later  than  the  boats  in 
alongshore;  not,  as  one  would  have  expected,  before 
them. 

And  the  pilot's  secret? 

(Glancing  at  the  Admirals) — Familiar  no  doubt  to 
these  gentlemen — 

Yes :  but  pray  explain — 

Is  the  rate  of  change  as  one  goes  seaward. — For  every 
mile  you  sail  out  to  sea,  the  flood-tide  comes  five  minutes 
later.  So  your  boats  must  allow  for  that  slowing 
curve  of  delay;  otherwise  they'll  be  thrown  into  con- 
fusion. 
ist  Admiral  (Awkwardly)  You  sec,  Sire? 
yd  Admiral     And    suppose   there 's    not    wind    enough    to    sail    a 

feather  ? 
Napoleon  (To  Admirals,  sternly)  Ay,  but  what  of  the  pilot's 

secret  that  you  left  out?    What  allowance  did  you  make 
for  the  sagging  of  the  current  mid-stream?     From  that 
it  follows  we  must  change  the  order  of  our  going,  and 
let  the  fastest  boats  start  second. 
2nd  Admiral     I  agree. 

Napoleon  (To  Admirals)   Then  why  leave  me  to  discover  it 

from  an  outsider?  ....  And  this  paper  of  yours — 
beside  the  mark!  After  a  year's  maundering,  we  know 
all  about  the  gale  of  St.  Laurence  that  blows  in  mid- 
August;  and  that  waves  are  made  of  water.  Don't  stand 
dazed  like  fawns,  gentlemen !  Be  less  swayed  by  terror 
at  the  sight  of  water!  Criticisms  on  the  embarkation  I 
should  have  welcomed.  You  deal  with  the  strategy  of 
an  invasion  by  flotilla.  I  am  much  obliged,  but  /  can 
furnish  all  the  strategy  required. 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


49 


ist  Admiral  We're  aware  that  your  Majesty  called  us  '  cautious 
imbeciles '    .    .    .    . 

Napoleon  Did  I  say  '  Cautions ' ? 

yd  Admiral  But  if  we  have  to  answer  for  the  crossing,  we  must 
lay  before  you  its  dangers.  And  if  your  Majesty  hates 
opposition  we  can't  help  it. 

Napoleon  Dislike   you    because   you    oppose    me?     I    love   my 

opposers!  I  need  them  to  feel  invincible.  My  dislike 
is  for  the  feckless  and  the  stagnant  who  support  me  and 
fail  me.  Harkye,  look  through  this  telescope — no,  with 
the  naked  eye — see  the  glitter  on  the  roofs  of  Dover! 
One  stride  across  the  ditch,  and  the  thing  's  done.  We've 
been  stripped  of  our  fishing  fleets  long  enough.  And 
remember  where  we  stand.  Under  the  floor  of  this 
hut,  and  jutting  up — look ! — into  my  very  garden,  are 
old  brick  bastions.  What  are  they?  Fragments  of  the 
Odre  Tower : — the  '  Tower  at  the  Edge ' — the  Roman 
lighthouse,  with  a  caged  lantern  at  its  top — an  octagonal 
tower  to  light  the  straits.  Here  was  the  Roman  base, 
for  all  invasions  of  Britain.  And  what  a  gang  of  proud 
ghosts — the  Emperors  that  sailed  from  under  the 
shadow  of  these  cliffs!  Caesar,  Claudius,  Hadrian, 
Antoninus,  Constantius,  Constantine!  Shall  we  halt, 
where  they  passed  over?  Where  their  silver  eagles  ran 
up  those  chalk  beaches,  shall  my  golden  eagles  fail? 
One  night,  six  centuries  later,  in  the  darkness  above  our 
heads,  from  the  iron  basket  on  the  top  of  Caligula's 
lighthouse,  there  shot  out  a  new  blaze.  An  old  man 
climbed  the  ruined  stages  of  the  Tower  and  lit  the 
cresset  with  his  big  and  bony  hands.  They  say  the 
words  that  really  rule  us,  we  never  utter !  It 's  a  lie, 
gentlemen !  One  word  governs  me.  It  is  the  name  of 
that  old  man — Charlemagne!  He  bequeathed  us  the 
new  torch  against  the  northern  pirates.  And  now,  after 
another  thousand  years,  he  kindles  it  again.  He  sets 
inside  the  iron  cage  another  flame — that  shall  feed  upon 
the  storms  that  would  extinguish  it.  He  sets  my  soul 
within  the  cage!  No  need  to  stamp  my  foot  upon  this 
pavement  to  summon  those  dead  Emperors.     They  live 


5o 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 


Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


and  move  within  me!  I  shine  from  those  windows 
across  the  strait.  The  future  of  France  lies  across  that 
water. — We'll  have  a  battle  of  Salamis  in  the  North  Sea. 
Pause. 
(To  the  Admirals)  You  can  go.  (To  Wickham) 
Stay  you. 

Admirals  go  out. 
Meneval  enters,  and  a  Servant. 
(To  Servant)  Bring  a  tray,  I'll  dine  here. 
(To  Wickham)   You  see  the  gear  I  have  to  work 
with?    Ah!     What  do  they  know  of  a  people  cracking 
its  shell?     (Pause)     Whom  have  we  in  the  next  room? 
Fishermen  Captains  turned  privateersmen,  sir. 
Ah  yes,  I  forgot — your  friends. 

A  noise  is  heard  outside. 
(To  Meneval)  What  noise  is  that? 
Marine  Guards  have  arrived  with  a  prisoner. 
I  cannot  have  these  rows  within  earshot. 

Meneval  goes  out. 
(To  Wickham)  Tell  me  how  you  think  they  took  it? 
Took  your  onslaught,  sir? 

Yes.     Were  they  convinced,  or  obstinate?     It's  all 
one  to  me,  but  how  did  the  effect  strike  you? 

I  think  they  were  dum foundered 

That's  the  essential!     Electrify  them!     Is  a  man  a 
rock  in  the  bed  of  a  torrent — never  to  be  transformed? 
No,  no,  no. 

What  did  you  think  of  their  paper? 
Quite  competent,  sir. 
Those  fools  competent? 
But  I  agreed  with  them. 

Then  what  did  you  think  of  my  speech  yourself? 
A  brave  performance,  sir. 
My  lighthouse  left  you  cold? 
The  speech,  and  the  speaker,  were  dark  to  me. 
Why  ? 

How  make  good  your  vaunt?     Why  promise  what 
you  cannot  perform? 

Napoleon  is  surprised.     He  is  still  unde- 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


5i 


cided  as  to  which  invasion — that  of  England 

or  Austria — he  shall  adopt.     To  the  main 

problems  set  him   by   the  Fates  it   is  his 

fashion,  up  to  the  last  moment,  to  prepare 

two  answers;  to  think  out  both  ways  to  the 

end;  and  accordingly  in  the  present  case  to 

force  his  instrumental  men,  both  of  navy 

and  army,  to  the  full  pitch  of  expectation. 

This  method  requires  serious  comedy.    He 

has  now  been  wholly  serious,  except  as  to 

the  certainty   of  his  intentions,  which   to 

the  flotilla  leaders  must  be  made  to  appear 

single,  whereas  they  are  alternative. 

Vicamp,  you're  a  masterpiece!     We'll  decree  you  a 

golden  statue   for  candour — delightful  candour!     You 

fancied  I  was  in  earnest? 

Ay,  in  mad  earnest. 

In  mad  earnest?  Ah!  My  resources  in  earnestness 
are  considerable.  But  tell  me  why,  up  till  now,  you 
thought  I  was  in  play? 

Because  whichever  course  you  took,  I  knew  the  course 
against  England  to  be  the  one  course  debarred. 

All  these  new-dug  ports, — massings  of  vessels — and 
so  on? 

A  demonstration — a  sea  fairy-tale. 
You  knew  that? 

Better  than  fifty  Admirals !   .    .    .   I  mean — 
Don't  apologize!     You  were  certain,  till  now.     And 
the  ground  of  your  certainty? 

(Smiling)  My  own  studies!  But,  if  your  Majesty 
has  no  further  commands,  may  I  withdraw? 

No.    On  this  much  hangs.    How  knew  you  this? 
You  had  nought  sure  to  go  by.     The  charts  needed 
for   such   a   move   by    sea   no   ministry    in   the   world 
possesses.    They  don't  exist. 

We  have  maps — charts — CafTarelli's   .    .    . 
Your  Majesty  must  know  better  than  I  that  not  one 
map  here  of  the  English  shore  is  worth  a  rush.     Take 
the  rock-ledges  just  awash  off  Folkestone,  the  Molehead, 


Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


52 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 


Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 


Cockledge;  the  Boulder  Bank  off  Rye — unmarked. 
Then  many  of  the  beaches  are  shifting  beaches. 

Are  you  sure  of  that? 

Why,  sir,  I  have  spent  my  life  swinging  the  lead  up 
and  down  Channel  to  find  it  out.  The  only  fresh  trust- 
worthy charts  are  my  own.  And  they,  being  single- 
handed  work,  are  fragmentary. 

What  have  you  finished? 

The  stretch  of  coast  opposite. 

And  your  charts — where  are  they? 

In  my  lockers,  on  yonder  boat. 

The  boat  you  work  on?  By  the  way,  why  did  you 
not  run  for  harbour,  and  bring  her  in  to  Boulogne? 

Until  I  was  on  some  little  footing  with  your  Majesty? 
I  feared,  because  of  her  English  rig,  for  my  manuscripts 
— running  between  the  English  blockade  and  the  coast- 
guns. 

After  all,  I  had  invited  you.  Well,  and  with  your 
flawless  maps,  is  landing  in  England  practicable? 

Nothing's  impossible.  Still,  were  there  here  a  live 
commander;  who  could  forget (Pauses) 

Forget  what? 

Well— that  he  had  crossed  the  Alps,  won  seventy 
battles,  conquered  fifty  provinces,  taken  a  thousand 
standards,  disarmed  Sardinian  kings,  humbled  Popes  and 
Emperors,  and  made  of  Italy  a  kingdom :— forget,  in 
fact,  every  feat  in  the  blazon  of  a  Charlemagne 

Well  ? 

And  who  could  remember  only  a  lean  young  man, 
one  of  Plutarch's  men,  who  once  lifted  us,  his  shoeless 
regiments,  in  spite  of  bare  and  bleeding  feet,  past  a 
wagon-load  of  new  boots  on  the  road  to  Montenotte 

Ah,  those  boots!    You  served  in  Italy? 

As  a  volunteer. 

I  remember  your  face.     Suppose  your  young  captain 

here. 

I  say  he  would  not  give  a  jot  for  my  evidence,  though 
fresh  from  the  English  shore — nor  even  for  that  of  the 
men  in  the  next  room  .    .    . 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


53 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 


Bucaille 
Napoleon 

Bucaille 
Napoleon 

Ditchenne 
Napoleon 


Broquart 
Napoleon 


I  guess  your  riddle. 

Then,  sir,  you  can  word  the  answer. 
Long  pause. 

By  God!    Superb! 

In  your  place — 

He  would  use  his  own  eyes! 

As  he  had  done  in  Italy. 

He  would  steal  across  at  night  on  your  boat,  the  safer 
for  her  English  rig — 

And  beforehand  look  so  narrowly  into  the  coast 
already  surveyed — 

The  closer  the  clearer. 

— as  to  need  no  opinion  from  me. 

Saperlotte!    I'll  do  it!    You  hesitate? 

Not  I. 

Call  your  friends  in. 

Wickham  opens  the  right-hand  door,  and 
calls  in  the  Captains. 

(Introducing  them)  Bucaille,  Duchenne,  Broquart. 

Men,  I  know  you  each  by  name.  My  army  is  ready. 
My  long  nets,  like  yours,  are  spread  along  the  cliffs  here. 
But  my  naval  staff  doesn't  know  everything — so  I 
consult  you.  We  can't  do  without  the  sea,  can  we, 
Bucaille? 

It  can  do  without  us,  sir. 

Yet  it  feeds  you.  How  many  British  prizes  have  you 
taken  ? 

A  hundred  and  seventy,  sir. 

Good.  (To  Duchenne)  How  many  times  have  you 
given  the  English  hulks  the  slip? 

Seven  times. 

I  thought  so.  (To  Broquart)  He  must  have  been 
born  on  a  Dutch  eel-sloop  ? — They're  pretty  well  at  home 
on  the  sea. 

God  alone  's  at  home  there,  sir. 

Harkye!  I'm  going  to  trust  you.  I  want  to  inspect 
the  landing-places  for  myself,  across  the  water — myself 
to  reconnoitre  in  person,  for  a  night  or  two,  on  the 
English  coast.    Can  it  be  done? 


54 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Broquart 

Napoleon 

Dachenne 

Napoleon 

Bucaille 

Napoleon 

Broquart 
Napoleon 
Duchenne 


Napoleon 

All 

Napoleon 

Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 


My  senses! 

What  say  you,  Duchenne? 

Hum! 

And  you?     {To  Bucaille.) 

{After  long  pondering)  Happen,  yes.  Happen,  it 
might,  on  one  of  these  low-built  lugger-rigged — 

{To  Broquart)  When 's  the  best  time  for  setting 
out? 

An  hour  before  high-tide. 

{To  Duchenne)  You  look  glum,  Duchenne? 

Well,  there  's  sheep  now  hanging  from  my  roof,  taken 
off  the  Kentish  Downs.  But  it 's  one  thing  for  us  to  risk 
our  old  hides  for  a  cask  of  gin;  another  to  risk  your 
Majesty. 

You  go  for  a  cask  of  gin,  and  not  for  me?  Come. 
Will  you  escort  me  across  under  this  gentleman's  com- 
mand, on  his  sloop? 

Ay. 

We'll  cross  to-morrow  night,  men.  Thanks.  Adieu. 
The  Captains  go  out. 

{To  Wickham)  I'll  come  aboard  your  boat  to- 
morrow. Is  it  clear,  to-morrow  night,  four  miles  out, 
at  ten? 

Agreed,  and  more  than  agreed.  That  is — if  your 
Majesty  desires  it. 

{Changing  his  manner  to  joviality)  Do  you  know  I 
planned  this  escapade  in  Egypt,  in  days  when  my  pulses 
ran  like  the  Rhone?  Some  snuff,  Vicamp!  England 
baulks  me  from  the  east — she  shutters  me  from  the 
rising  sun!  {Humming  a  well-known  air)  'She  was 
such  a  charming  child,  she  was  such  a  charming  child ! ' 
But  she  was,  and  is,  an  incurably  stupid  child! — Don't 
you  think  so? 

No,  sir. 

Why  not? 

At  least  she  's  invented  the  finest  story  in  the  world. 

What  is  it? 

Her  own. 

Ha! 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


55 


Wick  ham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 

Meneval 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


Meneval 


Wickham 

Meneval 
Wickham 


Her  sons  may  be  wily  as  the  many-wandered  Ulysses. 
But  isn't  she  herself  spinning  the  Odyssey  of  Europe? 
We'll  talk  of  that  on  board. 
And  France  the  new  Iliad? 

Meneval  enters,  perturbed. 
Some  injury  is  reported  to  the  main  near  battery,  sir. 
The  monster  battery?    What  injury?     Get  my  hat — 
I'll  ride  down  and  see.      (To  Wickham)   Wait  here. 
I  shall  be  back  in  a  few  minutes. 

Napoleon  goes  out  hurriedly,  accompanied 

by  Meneval. 

Wickham  is  alone  in  the  Council  Chamber. 

(Alone)   He's  coming!     The  incredible 's  within  an 

ace,  within  an  ace !    Half-way  up  my  cliff — rocks  below ! 

Have  I  climbed  up  here  in  a  dream?     Why  am  I  not 

mad  with  joy?     Numb,  rather — numb.     But  after  all  I 

am  serving — and  I  shall  be  alone  with  what  I  asked  for. 

The  Mamelouk  servant,  Rustam,  who  eyes 

Wickham    curiously,    enters, — puts   some 

pens   on    the    table — and   without   remark 

goes  out. 

Meneval  re-enters  rapidly. 
A  young  man  's  been  found  hiding  under  a  hedge  at 
Wimille.  The  crowd  have  been  shaking  him.  They 
think  he  has  damaged  one  of  the  guns.  His  Majesty 
met  the  prisoner,  and  ordered  him  to  be  brought  here. 
Unhappily,  I  don't  know  English.  (To  Usher)  Bring 
the  man  in. 

The  Marine  Guard  (of  Act  I,  Scene  II) 
enters  with  Raymond,  who  is  torn,  sweaty, 
and  breathless.  He  does  not  recognize 
Wickham,  whose  recognition  of  him  is 
hardly  perceptible. 
(To  Meneval)  May  I  ask  him  some  questions  in 
English  ? 

Certainly,  if  you  know  any. 
Prisoner. 

Raymond  raises  his  head,  but  is  too  ex- 
hausted to  speak.    He  recognizes  his  brother. 


56 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


The  following  dialogue  is  conducted  in  a 
level  and  calm  tone. 

My  boy,  we  can  speak  in  English.  What  have  you 
done? 

(Panting)  Spiked  one  of  the  great  guns. 

Were  you  discovered? 

No.    Arrested  on  suspicion. 

Then  kith  and  kin  to  the  rescue. 

I  shall  be  shot. 

Not  so  fast.  There  's  not  one  guard  on  the  prison- 
barges  that  doesn't  sell  instruments  for  escape.  Elise  or 
I  will  arrange  with  your  guard  to-night. 

To-night  ? 

This  very  niglit. 

I  may  be  imprisoned  in  a  hut  up  here. 

They  are  mud-walled.  You  shall  have  a  knife.  One 
way  or  another,  out  you  shall  come. 

What  does  he  say? 

Washed  ashore  in  a  gale. 

Strong  meat,  that ! 

(To  Raymond)  You  remember  the  rope  you  left  on 
the  cliff? 

Yes. 

I  shall  be  waiting  beneath  it  on  the  beach  to-night. 
Join  me  below. 

To-night?    It  seems  hopeless. 

Our  sloop  's  not  far  out.  I'll  get  a  boat,  or  planks. 
Failing  them,  harkye,  we'll  make  a  swim  of  it! 

Swim  of  it? 

What's  a  four-mile  swim? 

I'll  try.  (Pause)  Oh  heavens!  Your  plan — your 
great  plan !    All  by  my  folly  ruined. 

What  of  it?    Others  will  succeed. 

What  does  he  say? 

He  was  arrested  at  Wimille  while  gathering  herbs. 

An  Usher  hands  in  a  pair  of  field-glasses. 
Meneval  takes  them. 

(Holding  up  the  glasses)  Herbs?  Viewing  herbs 
through  these? 


Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 
Wickham 


Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 
Wickham 

Meneval 
Wickham 
Meneval 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 

Raymond 
Wickham 
Raymond 

Wickham 

Meneval 

Wickham 


Meneval 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


57 


Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 
Napoleon 


Napoleon  re-enters  hastily. 
The  gun  's  spiked.    Where  's  the  fellow  ?    Ah ! 
Monsieur  Vicamp  has  cross-examined  him. 
In  English?    There  Monsieur  Vicamp  has  the  advan- 
tage of  me. 

He  says  he  appears  innocent. 

He  may  be  innocent.  But  if  proved  guilty,  Monsieur 
Vicamp  will  agree  with  me  that  he  must  be  blown  from 
one  of.  the  guns  of  the  battery.  (To  Meneval)  Send 
the  man  to  the  head-quarters  of  the  second  division. 
These  uncountable  spies  must  be  stopped. 

Raymond  goes  out  with  his  guard. 
Meneval  follows. 
(  With  a  steady  glance  at  Wickham  ;  calling  Meneval 
back)  Send  after  to  say  that  he  's  to  be  made  to  speak; 
and  if  he  won't  speak,  his  thumbs  to  be  squeezed  in  the 
hammer  of  a  musket  until  he  does  speak. 

During  this  colloquy  Napoleon,  watching 
Wickham,  sees  the  slight  contraction  of  a 
cheek.    Meneval  goes  out  after  making  a 
note. 
(Changing  his  tone  to  good  humour)  Fortunate  for 
the  prisoner  that  you  could  speak  English,  Vicamp.    But 
I  don't  think  I  need  keep  you  now.     I  shall  rely  on 
your  keeping  our  rendezvous  at  sea,  at  ten  o'clock  to- 
morrow, eh? 

(Bows)   To-morrow  night.     The  rendezvous  at  sea. 
(Smiling)  Provided,  of  course,  you  have  no  prior  en- 
gagement ! 

Wickham  goes  out,  pausing  on  his  way, 
and  somewhat  agitated. 
Napoleon   looks  steadily  after  him,  and 
then  at  the  window. 
(Musingly)  He  winced.     (He  touches  a  bell.) 

Meneval  enters. 
Sire? 

The  Captain  of  the  Port  is  at  the  Admirals'  hut.    Send 
him  here;  also  my  valet,  Rustam. 
Meneval  goes  out. 


Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 


Napoleon 

Meneval 
Napoleon 


.?8 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 


Napoleon 

Captain 

Napoleon 

Captain 
Napoleon 

Captain 

Napoleon 


Captain 

Napoleon 
Captain 


Rustatn 


Napoleon  goes  to  the  telescope,  and  looks 
out  to  sea. 

Rustam,  the  valet,  enters. 
Prepare  for  my  absence  at  sea  for  a  week.    The  yellow 
leather  trunk,  cloaks,  map-cases. 
Rustam  goes  out. 
Napoleon  looks  through  the  telescope. 

The  Captain  of  the  Port  enters. 
{Without  looking  round)  Is  that  the  Captain  of  the 
Port?     Do  you   see  that  small   ship,   four  miles  out? 
What  is  she,  eh  ? 

She  sometimes  helps  the  escape  of  French  prisoners, 
sir. 

She  is  in  enemy  hands;  perhaps  helping  the  escape  of 
English  prisoners. 
Is  it  possible? 

We'll  forestall  them.     Take  a  pinnace  and  a  couple  of 
guns,  and  beard  her  before  night-fall. 
To-night,  sir? 

Now!  now!  now! — before  eight  o'clock!  And  I'll 
come  aboard  her  myself  at  ten  to-night  in  a  common 
despatch-boat. 

The  Captain  is  going  out. 
(Pausing)     There  's  a  touch  of  chill  in  the  southerly 
wind — maybe  it 's  coming  in  a  bit  foggy,  sir. 

Foggy?    Well,  you  can  get  out  sweeps,  I  suppose? 
We  shall  await  your  Majesty  on  board  that  boat.     (He 
goes  out) 

Napoleon,  partly  hidden  from  the  door  by 
a  screen,  leans  against  one  of  the  windows 
in  a  thoughtful  attitude. 
Rustam  enters  and  lights  the  six  candles 
on  the  table.  Then,  thinking  the  room 
empty,  he  leans  over  his  master's  chair,  and 
makes  a  despairing  gesture  of  compassion, 
unseen  by  Napoleon. 

Napoleon    steps    out    from    behind    the 
screen. 
May  even  Rustam  speak  a  word  ?    But  no ! 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


59 


Napoleon 

Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 


Napoleon 
Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 

Napoleon 

Rustam 


Napoleon 
Rustam 

Napoleon 
Rustam 

Napoleon 


Rustam 


Speak. 

I  suffer  from  being  in  a  far  country. 

Eh? 

To-day  my  heart  falls  in  ruins  for  thee. 

Why? 

When  I  put  on  thy  boots,  when  I  hold  thy  mirror  for 
shaving,  or  lie  on  guard  at  night,  I  have  watched  thy 
lips  working  with  unuttered  things.  Now,  after  years, 
I  can  read  them. 

What  words  do  I  mutter  that  you  can  read? 

'Be  strong,  deceive,  strike!' — Of  these  three  things 
art  thou  composed. 

'Be  strong,  deceive,  strike!'  eh? 

Ay,  lord. 

What  of  it? 

Go  not  against  this  northern  island. 

Why  not  ? 

Forgive  thy  servant,  but  believe  him. 

Go  not  northward  ? 

What  is  all  this  ash-grey  sea  worth — with  its  serpent 
voice — that  the  very  dogs  bark  against  at  night?  Is 
there  lordship  yonder,  where  all  minds  are  turbulent? 
Is  there  glory  there?  No.  The  tombs  of  glory  lie  in 
the  Pyramids.  Is  death  lucid  there?  No.  The  melting 
of  a  pale  smoke  into  a  white  cloud.  But  between  the 
Lebanons,  along  the  red  valley  of  young  green  corn, 
where  sun  is  on  the  fruit  trees  in  blossom — through 
apricots  and  almonds,  the  eyelids  of  the  morning — 
there  lies  the  way  to  Baalbec,  the  Temple  of  the  Sun ! 

Well  ? 

Eastward  lies  the  road  of  conquerors — Asia  is  for 
thee! 

Where  were  you  born? 

{Proudly)  At  Tiflis — in  the  path  of  Alexander! 
{Pause) 

He  went  south  of  you.  {Pause)  Who  ate  my  cold 
chicken  last  night ! 

Rustam,  though  abashed,  is  unshaken. 

Tempt  not,  to-morrow,  this  grey  sea ! 


6o 


ACT  II.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 


Rustam 

Napoleon 


Is  some  thirst  for  home,  or  for  womankind,  upon 
thee  ?  Have  /  a  country  ?  Have  /  kindred  ?  No,  I  am 
an  outlaw  and  an  instrument,  like  thee.  But  for  me, 
greater  than  any  who  ruled  on  Euphrates,  this  western 
space  is  necessary. 

So  to-morrow  thou  wilt  sail  with  the  map-maker? 

It  is  to-night  I  sail,  without  him.  His  maps,  in  his 
ship  yonder,  I  take.  But  the  map-maker  himself  I  leave 
behind. 

Rustam  bows  and  retires. 

Hey  ho!  I  believe  the  fellow  loves  me!  What  if 
the  dog  's  right  ? — My  sun  to  set  westward,  like  any 
common  sun?  I  am  worn  out  between  this  east  and 
west.  .  .  .  '  Be  strong,  deceive,  strike ! '  We  must 
pension  him  off,  he  's  getting  too  intelligent ! 


END  OF  ACT  II. 


act  nr 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 

The  Sloop's  Cabin. 

Night  at  sea  in  the  Channel,  on  board  the  sloop.  A  small 
ship's  cabin,  panelled  in  wood.  A  ladder  leads  out 
of  it,  and  another  door  towards  a  passage  forward. 
A  hanging  lamp  is  burning.  There  are  a  rude  table 
and  chairs.  A  hatch  in  the  floor  is  standing  open 
by  the  table.  There  is  a  small  raised  stove  on  legs, 
with  a  metal  chimney  that  issues  through  the  roof 
of  the  cabin.  Two  young  Naval  Officers  are 
kneeling  on  the  floor  by  an  open  coffer  of  papers. 

An  Aide-de-Camp  enters. 

A.D.C.  {Shuddering)  Ugh!     I  am  to  ask  whether  you  have 

found  Wickham's  charts,  gentlemen? 
ist  Lt.  Not  a  sign  of  them. 

A.D.C.  Fog,  fog,  everywhere.     But  it 's  not  that  that  I  mind 

most. 
ist  Lt.  What  do  you  mind  most? 

A.D.C.  That  balanced  hand! 

2nd  Lt.  What  hand? 

A.D.C.  That  arm  you  (Nodding  towards  the  ist  Lt.)  told 

me    of   ...    .   Stretched    up    so    stark    out    of    the 

sea   ....   my  God ! 
2nd  Lt.  You  mean  before  the  fog  came  on? 

A.D.C.  Yes.     I  am  Breton,  and  these  things  affect  me.     An 

arm  out  of  the  sea,  rigid,  at  an  impossible  angle!     Was 

it  crying   for  vengeance?     Was   it  dragging  a  heavy 

weight  out  of  the  water  with  the  other  hand? 
ist  Lt.  He  means  the  man  we  saved. 

2nd  Lt.  Saved? 

ist  Lt.  Well,  no  fault  of  ours — one  may  call  it  saved. 

A.D.C.  What  can  he  have  been  trying  to  lug  out  of  the  dark? 

63 


64  ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


2nd  Lt.  Why,  some  shipmate.     I  saw  the  face  of  a  second — 

a  younger  chap. 
A.D.C.  What!    Another  in  the  water? 

2nd  Lt.  Yes.    It  had  a  livid  mark  on  the  forehead.    I  stretched 

an  oar  to  him.    He  closed  his  eyes — as  if  in  the  last  dis- 
taste— and  sank. 
ist  Lt.  Good  job  too!     With  them  on  board  the  fog  won't 

lift. 

A.D.C.  goes  out. 
Gilded  popinjay! 

'Tisn't  good  to  have  landsmen  aboard. 
Let 's  make  him  aware  of  it! 

Two  men  enter  with   two  small  kegs  of 
powder. 
Where  stow  away  the  spare  powder,  sir? 
Under  this  hatch  with  the  rest  of  the  powder. 

The  kegs  are  rapidly  deposited.    The  hatch 
in  the  floor  is  closed.    The  two  men  go  out. 
By  the  way,  where  's  the  Emperor  ? 
In  the  wheel-house,  with  the  Captain. 
In  this  fog?    He  can  see  nothing. 
About  that  he  paid  me  a  compliment! 
A  yarn ! 

Savage  over  coming  aboard  late — a  compliment,  I  tell 
you!  The  infallible  bully's  uneasy  at  last!  He's  felt 
the  power  of  the  sea.  Live  so  long  as  live  he  may — 
now  he'll  have  the  sea  underneath  him. 
Well,  so  have  we — On  with  you. 
Dense  fog  everywhere — and  the  decks  all  greasy — the 
Captain  finds  the  godlike  creature  hanging  on  a  com- 
panion ladder,  looking  dismal — and  invites  him  to  stand 
the  middle  watch  with  him.  In  the  wheel-house  all  was 
glum.  Delpierre,  the  pilot,  at  the  wheel,  in  tarpaulin 
high  boots — his  whiskers  just  lit  by  the  glimmer  of  the 
binnacle  lamp — pays  the  godlike  creature  no  jot  of 
attention.  At  last  he  breaks  out  with :  '  I  didn't  know 
pilots  were  so  fat!  You  sleep  too  much.  Why  were 
you  asleep  yesterday  when  ycu  were  sent  for  ?  '  Del- 
pierre grins  in  silence,  like  a  hobgoblin.     '  You  seem 


2nd  Lt 

ist  Lt. 

Man 

ist  Lt. 

2nd  Lt 

ist  Lt. 

2nd  Lt, 

ist  Lt. 

2nd  Lt. 

ist  Lt. 

2nd  Lt 

ist  Lt. 

ACT  III.     SCENE  I  65 

to  take  to  yourself,  sir,  a  deal  of  credit  for  living  a  life 
of  comfort!'  Delpierre  answers  hollow  as  an  owl,  'I 
had  been  up  all  night  for  two  nights  at  the  wheel,  beating 
in  from  Dunkirk  on  another  sloop.'     Rich,  eh? 

2nd  Lt.  How  did  you  save  the  situation? 

1st  Lt.  I  cried  out,   '  Now  we're  passing  over  a  shoal,   sir. 

Now  we're  over  the  shoalest  water ! '  And  the  shaven 
one  wheels  round  the  flash  of  his  jungle-cat  eye  on  me, 
and  says,  '  How  are  you  sure  of  that?  '  *  By  the  quicker 
sound  of  ripplings,  and  the  ship's  talking.'  '  And  how 
do  you  know  where  we  are?  '  '  By  the  line  of  soundings 
we  keep.  Yonder  's  the  leadsman  singing  in  the  chains ! ' 
'Are  we  near  England?'  'No,'  says  I,  'off  the  north 
bank  of  the  Varne  .  .  I  can  hear  the  English  coast 
when  we  come  nigh.'  '  What !  Have  your  ears  got  feel- 
ers out  like  a  snail? '  '  No,  but  there  's  a  half-dead  echo 
from  the  shore,  before  the  cliffs  loom  up.'  And  he  stares 
at  me!    '  Your  ears  are  the  ears  of  the  mind! ' 

A.D.C.  enters. 

A.D.C.  His  Majesty  will  sup  here.     His  compliments,  and  he 

hopes  that  both  of  you  gentlemen  will  take  a  grilled  bone 
with  him  and  the  Captain. 

Both  Much  obliged  to  his  Majesty. 

A.D.C.  He  refuses  to  turn  in   .    .    .   How  oppressive  this  air — : 

dense  with  fate! 

1st  Lt.  We  have  a  pleasing  venture  on  hand.    .    .    . 

A.D.C.  Naturally;  but  my  chief  's  a  trifle  put  out  over  this  loss 

of  time. 

2nd  Lt.  Ah,  has  the  black  ox  trodden  on  your  foot? 

A.D.C.  The  soak  of  this  fog  appals  one!    No  land — no  sea — 

no  sky!  We're  swathed  in  a  coffin  of  grey  feathers — 
slung  in  a  cloud.  The  ship 's  blind — buried — .  .  .  . 
Where  are  we? 

1st  Lt.  As  near  the  cold  bottom,  my  son,   as  a  beggar  to 

poverty ! 

A.D.C.  How  heavily  the  seconds  go  at  sea!   ....   Do  you 

think  that  younger  fellow,  with  the  scar  on  his  face,  may 
not  have  risen  again? 

1st  Lt.  Who  knows? 


66 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


A.D.C. 

ist  Lt. 
A.D.C. 


ist  Lt. 

Steward 

ist  Lt. 

2nd  Lt. 

Captain 

A.D.C. 

Captain 
ist  Lt. 
Captain 

Napoleon 


Napoleon 

Voice 
Captain 

Voices 

Captain 
Voice 


You  said  nothing  of  these  drowned  men  to  him  above? 
( With  a  gesture  towards  the  upper  deck. ) 
Not  yet. 
Say  nothing- — it  would  be  the  last  straw. 

The  Steward  enters  with  Jan.     They  pre- 
pare the  table  rapidly  for  food. 
What,  the  English  youngster?    .    .    .   Who  on  earth 
released  him? 

To  help  wait,  by  the  Captain's  orders,  sir. 

The  two  Officers  watch  them  critically. 
The  table  laid,  both  servants  go  out. 
That 's  the  boy  that  scratched  me  with  a  dirk,  when 
we  boarded. 

Here  's  the  Captain! 

The  Captain  of  the  Port  enters. 
The    Emperor's    coming    down.     Harkye!     Amuse 
him — distract  him. 

He  's  fuming  over  the  missing  charts.    I  wish  we  could 
get  in  under  land  as  quick  as  we  can. 
We  intend  to. 

Till  the  ship  's  cleared  of  dead,  we're  in  an  ill  case. 
(Ironically)   Much  obliged  for  your  opinion! 

Napoleon  enters,  affecting  briskness. 
Well,   the   fog  has   masked  us  through   the   English 
blockade.     Sit,  gentlemen.    (They  sit)     Take  pot  luck. 
In  this  mirk  we  might  as  well  be  tompions   inside  a 
twelve-pound  gun! 

They  cat  in  silence.     A  noise  of  hurrying 
feet  is  heard  overhead. 
What 's  that  ? 

All  listen.    A  voice  is  heard  outside. 
Stand  aby  there !    Let  me  pass,  I  say ! 
(Rises,  and  shouts  up   through   the  hatchway)    No 
noise ! 

Give  us  a  lantern !    The  fog  's  so  thick  that  a  man  run- 
ning was  near  overboard ! 
A  man  running? 

One  of  the  swabbers  fears  ghosts;  and  won't  go  near 
the  forecastle.     We  want  a  lantern,  sir. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


67 


Captain 


Napoleon 
Captain 


Napoleon 
Captain 


Napoleon 

Captain 

Napoleon 


Captain 
1st  Lt. 
Captain 

Napoleon 


Captain 

Napoleon 

Officers 


Napoleon 
Captain 


The  binnacle-light  shall  be  the  only  light  on  deck! 
Off  with  you,  soft-headed  lubbers!  We  have  a  staff- 
officer  on  board. 

The  noises  of  feet  on  deck  depart. 

Why  is  one  of  the  swabbers  afraid  to  go  near  the  fore- 
castle? 

Sir,  he  fears  a  dead  man  there.  It  seems  that  once  a 
year  the  drowned  rise  off  the  Varne  bank,  and  have  a 
right  to  come  aboard  their  old  ships! 

How  came  the  dead  man  there? 

Your  Majesty's  arrival  being  delayed,  we  were  hang- 
ing about  off  shore,  when  we  were  hailed  by  cries  like 
drowning.  We  made  out  two  heads  in  the  water  to  star- 
board. We  passed  the  bight  of  a  rope  round  one  man, 
and  hauled  him  up.  The  other,  whom  the  first  was  sup- 
porting, slipped  back  under  the  lee  counter,  and  sank. 
The  older  man  we  stripped  and  rubbed,  and  poured 
brandy  into — but  he  was  bound  beyond  the  farthest  fish- 
ing-grounds  .... 

Were  you  right  to  hamper  me  with  this? 

Let  a  Normandy  fisherman  drown,  sir? 

To  have  tried  to  save  them  will  create  a  good  local 
impression — You  were  right.  You  have  left  the  body 
of  the  older  man  on  deck? 

Under  a  tarpaulin. 

Why  not  heave  him  overboard? 

You've  heard  his  Majesty's  opinion.  We'll  give  him 
a  funeral  in  his  own  village. 

(Viewing  the  zvine  in  his  glass)  Well,  if  it's  annoy- 
ing to  be  taken  in  by  Vicamp  about  his  maps — it 's  good 
luck  to  have  his  cabin! 

(Raising  his  glass)  To  the  absent  owner! 

To  the  absent  owner! 

And  a  foggy  end  to  all  skulking  blockaders ! 

Daring  this  conversation  the  mess  Steward 
has  been  waiting  on  them;  Jan  enters,  and 
zv aits  also. 

Who  is  that  freckled  monkey? 

The  master's  brother.     Your  name,  boy? 


68 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 


Napoleon 
Captain 


Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

ist  Lt. 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 


Napoleon 
Jan 


Jan  Wickham. 

Napoleon  looks  up  quickly. 
Are  you  afraid  of  us? 
A  little,  sir. 

Hungry  ?     Here  's  a  crust  for  courage.     The  French 
are  never  afraid. 
I'm  English. 

Do  you  want  to  grow  up  an  Englishman? 
I  think  I  do,  sir. 
Why? 
We're  fond  of  the  place. 

0  the  country  's  well  enough — Though  I  haven't  seen 
it  this  gay  while :  not  since  I  escaped  the  hulks,  and  went 
on  all  fours  by  night  to  Arundel,  along  the  smooth  of  the 
Downs.  The  larks  woke  me  by  their  singing. — But  the 
people  aren't  up  to  their  country.  Their  minds  are  fuller 
of  hedges. 

Hedges.  Yes.  How  can  a  mob  of  merchants  carry 
out  the  long  thoughts  of  a  dynasty? 

{To  Jan)  Sing  us  an  English  lark-song,  and  you 
shall  have  some  soup.  {He  motions  the  boy  to  sit  by 
him)  The  soup  's  good! 

Ay,  'tis. 

You  tasted  it  outside? 

1  smelled  it  under  the  lee  of  the  galley. 
Pity  you're  not  French-born ! 

I  wouldn't  half  mind  a  bit  of  fighting  in  France. 

This  is  the  boy  that  firked  out  a  knife  at  me. 

{Gulping  soup)  I'd  like  to  have  a  look  at  Boney. 

Ah,  fill  your  eyes  with  him,  eh? 

Our  shepherd  swears  he  saw  him  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
cloak,  standing  on  Dover  cliff  looking  sheer  down 
Channel   .    .    . 

Indeed ! 

Yes.  He  '$  dangerous  when  he  's  sad ;  and  he  *s  very 
melancholy  whenever  he  looks  at  water.  He  must  have 
crossed  in  a  smuggler's  boat  to  Eastware  Bay.  It 
frightened   all   the   spinster   ladies   out   of   our  village. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


69 


Napoleon 


Jan 
Napoleon 

Jan 
A.D.C. 

Jan 
A.D.C. 
Jan 
A.D.C. 


Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 


Captain 


1st  Lt. 


They  have  moved  away  and  settled  in  Buckinghamshire. 
The  Officers  laugh. 

And  this  frightened  spinster  is  England — the  world's 
justicer,  who  professes  to  keep  the  balance  of  power, 
without  a  sword  in  her  hand!  Boy,  all  you  English 
take  Napoleon  for  a  swaggering  freebooter — who  drags 
out  campaigns  to  keep  pay  in  his  pocket,  eh? 

Yes,  sir. 

Born  in  a  cave  in  an  island,  brought  up  to  be  a  brigand 
— he  's  a  brigand  still,  eh? 

That 's  why  I  like  him,  sir. 

I  bet  the  boy  has  a  cave  of  his  own.  They  run  ships 
hard,  do  caves!     (To  Jan)  Where  is  yours? 

In  the  warren  of  the  undercliff. 

A  cave  of  brambles,  eh?    Not  a  living  thing  in  sight? 

Blackbirds  and  stoats. 

Crooked  briars  and  traveller's  joy,  eh?  One  need 
wash  no  more  than  a  bear!  One  can  rob  one's  family 
and  give  them  something  back ! 

Sometimes,  sir. 

Do  you  know  any  songs,  boy? 

Only  one  my  father  wrote. 

Sing  it! 

(Singing)  '  When  you  were  born  despairs  must  die, 

Call  her,  Echo ' 

He  breaks  down,  and  slightly  weeps. 

(Encouragingly)    That 's    very    good — '  When    you 
were  born  despairs  must  die.'     (Looking  at  Napoleon) 
That 's  very  good   ....    Sing  Crocketty,  Lieutenant ! 
(To  Napoleon)  A  gentleman  of  fortune,  sir! 
A  croak,  sir!     (Sings) 

1  All  acock  rides  he 

Daft  as  his  roan, 

Never  abides  he 

Hot  to  be  gone, 

Crocketty,  Crocketty, 

Hammering  on, 

(Chorus)     Crocketty,  Crocketty!    Crocketty,  Crocketty! 


7o 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


(Ch 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 


A.D.C. 

Jan 

Officers 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 


Jan 

Captain 

Jan 

Napoleon 
1st  Lt. 
Jan 


He  's  drove  the  ae  beast 
From  our  swingle-tree, 
Where  will  he  drive  en  to? 
Let  him  a-be ! 
His  heart 's  acast 
And  his  tongue  's  awry, 
He  cannot  last, 
Hell 's  in  his  eye! 
Drink  meant  for  those  ribs 
Through  'em  shall  run, 
String  him  aloft 
To  dry  in  the  sun, 

orus)     Crocketty,  Crocketty!     Crocketty,  Crocketty! 

(Recovered)  My  brother  wants  to  meet  Boney  too. 
He  too  ? 

Father    had    great    hopes    of    Napoleon    once.     But 
Mother  looks  down  on  him. 

The  Officers  are  amused. 

And  have  you  great  hopes  of  him  or  do  you  look  down 
on  him? 

I'd  like  to  fight  under  him. 

Why? 

He  's  such  a  game  little  devil. 

A  cool  rogue!    How  came  you  to  speak  French? 

Mother  's  French.     She  loves  France. 

And  why  does  she  look  down  on  the  Emperor? 

She  says  he  betrayed  the  Republic. 

There  is  a  pause  of  general  consternation. 

That 's     a     piece     of      foolery     you     mustn't     re- 
peat     Why  did  your  brother  take  you  off 

to  sea  at  your  age? 

Geoffrey  's  good  to  us.     I  came  as  a  stowaway. 

How,  Geoffrey  good  to  you  ? 

He  was  good  to  us  when  Father  was  in  prison — kept 
us  all  and  went  hungry  to  do  it. 

I  did  the  same  myself,  once. 

And  your  respected  father's  trade  when  out  of  prison? 

Country  doctor.     He  presses  a  very  fine  oil  out  of 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


7i 


Captain 

Jan 

Napoleon 

Jan 
Captain 

Napoleon 

Captain 

Jan 

Captain 

Jan 
Captain 

Jan 
Captain 

1st  Lt. 

Napoleon 


Captain 
1st  Lt. 

Jan 
1st  Lt. 


Napoleon 

2nd  Lt. 

Napoleon 


hops,  to  make  the  Kent  beer  taste  of  hops.  And  polishes 
a  reflector  to  see  the  moons  of  Jupiter  in.  Our  shepherd 
can  see  them  with  the  naked  eye. 

What  was  your  father  put  in  prison  for? 

Thinking  too  much.    They  don't  like  thinking  in  Kent. 

— Belongs  to  the  mighty  family  of  all  men  that  are 
free,  eh? 

Yes,  sir. 

We'd  all  be  free  if  wishing  did  it — every  slave  in 
Europe. 

No  blabbing,  Captain ! 

Boy,  where  does  your  brother  keep  his  charts? 

I  don't  know,  sir.  He'll  tell  you  himself  when  he 
comes  aboard. 

You  think  he 's  coming  ?  The  boat  was  to  lie  off 
shore  till  he  signalled,  eh? 

Yes. 

Well — not  to  gull  you,  boy — he  's  not  coming  aboard 
now. 

Why  not  ? 

We're  in  mid-Channel.    He  's  in  France ! 

A  distant  booming  sound  is  heard. 

Drums!    One  can  hear  them  thirty  miles  off! 

Drums,  no.  That 's  the  main  battery  near  my  hut. 
And  a  staggering  flash  she  gives !  It  may  be  the  death 
of  the  spy. 

I  make  the  distance  fifteen  miles. 

Hear  that,  young  Cockerel.  Can  your  brother  come 
aboard  over  fifteen  miles  of  water? 

He'll  come,  somehow. 

First  affront  the  Emperor — then  misdoubt  the  Cap- 
tain!— May  I  dismiss  him,  sir? 
The  Captain  nods. 
Take  your  gutfoundered  fiddlecase  out  of  the  cabin? 
The  Boy  is  going. 

Boy,  wake  me  at  three  in  the  morning ! 
The  Boy  retires. 

Would  your  Majesty  care  for  cards?    '  Vingt-et-un  ' ? 

All  games  are  to  me  dull  as  Paris,  my  good  sir.    But 


72  ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


I'll  cock  a  leg  over  this  arm-chair  and  watch  you  at  it — 

'  carte  .    .    .   content  .    .    .  carte  .    .    .  content  .    .    . ' 

till  daybreak,  eh? 
ist  Lt.  I  have  it !     Let 's  test  that  boy's  nerve — make  an  ex- 

periment? 
2nd  Lt.  How? 

ist  Lt.  Send    him    in   the    dark   to   the    dead   man,    with   a 

message ! 
2nd  Lt.  Vastly  amusing!    Would  your  Majesty  allow  us? 

Napoleon  As  you  please. 

They  ring  a  bell.    Jan  appears. 
1st  Lt.  A  message,  my  young  nobleman,  and  don't  you  forget 

it!    A  friend  of  ours  is  taking  a  nap  on  deck  forward. 

Wake  him,  with  the  Captain's  compliments,  and  say  he 

orders  him  in  here  to  supper. 
Jan  Shall  I  take  a  lantern  ? 

ist  Lt.  No. 

2nd  Lt.  He  must  be  cold  there.     Don't  let  him  off! 

The  Boy  goes  out  unmoved, 
ist  Lt.  Rich!    Rich! 

2nd  Lt.  He'll  have  to  feel  his  way  to  the  man,  and  touch  him 

to  find  out ! 
A.D.C.  Suppose  he  goes  crazy  with  fear? 

ist  Lt.  That  hoarse  old  carrion,  Delpierre,  will  overhear  and 

be  chuckling ! 
A.D.C.  (To  ist  Lt.)  Would  you  have  the  pluck  to  run  your 

own  errand? 
ist  Lt.  To  our  friend  forrard?    I'd  fight  naked  in  a  cask  with 

him! 
A.D.C.  You  wanted  to  heave  him  overboard! 

ist  Lt.  We'll  end  with  that.    May  I?     (He  fills  Napoleon's 

glass. ) 

They  drink. 
2nd  Lt.  A  wager — the  boy'll  not  come  back. 

ist  Lt.  That 's  what  I  say. 

A.D.C.  For  a  prank,  it 's  a  poor  one. 

ist  Lt.  A  chemical  experiment,  I  say! 

A.D.C.  It'll  show  up  a  bully.     I  should  like  to  see  your  face 

if  the  man  came. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I  73 


2nd  Lt.  The  boy  won't  come  back 

Pause.    Jan  re-enters,  serene  and  composed. 
Captain  Well? 

Jan  (To  Captain)  I  can't  wake  him,  sir. 

1st  Lt.  What  d'you  mean  ? 

Jan  He  won't  wake. 

1st  Lt.  But  wake  him  you  must' 

Jan  I  shook  him.     He  's  cold. 

ist  Lt.  Monstrous!     Is  he  deaf?     Back  you  go,  boy!     Say 

there  's  a  gentleman  here  that  takes  no  refusals.     Stoop 

down  and  whisper  in  his  ear,  '  By  God,  you've  got  to 

come!'     If  he  won't  come  at  a  shout,  he'll  come  at  a 

whisper ! 

Jan  goes  out. 

I  said  it  would  be  sport ! 
2nd  Lt.  The  sport 's  to  come ! 

A.D.C.  In  order  to   frighten  a  child,  you'd  have  horseplay 

with — 
ist  Lt.  Outrageous  isn't  it,  to  men  of  feeling! 

2nd  Lt.  How  tender  to  teasing  we  are  !    Why,  it 's  a  fine  joke! 

A.D.C.  A  joke  that  has  to  be  shouted  into  the  ear  of  a  corpse 

is  one  too  fine  for  my  apprehension. 
2nd  Lt.  Be  reasonable. 

A.D.C.  (To  ist  Lt.)  Because  he  jabbed  at  you  with  his  dirk, 

and  made  you  skip  like  a  rat ! 
Captain  This  time  the  boy'll  guess. 

A.D.C.  An   unhappy    body,   with    the   seaweed   of   his   poor 

fisher's  craft  about  his  ears — 
Captain  We'll  pack  the  boy  off  quietly  to  his  tjunk. 

A.D.C.  (Sotto  voce)  Sacrilege. 

ist  Lt.  We  want  no  men  of  feeling  here.     Said  I  well,  sir? 

Napoleon  does  not  answer. 
2nd  Lt.  What 's  that  shuffling  along  the  deck  ? 

Jan  re-enters.    All,  especially  the  ist  Lt., 
are  surprised  at  his  demeanour. 
2nd  Lt.  Well? 

ist  Lt.  Well? 

Captain  What  did  our  wet  friend  say  ? 

Jan  Didn't  say  anything. 


74 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


Captain 
Jan 
ist  Lt. 
Jan 
ist  Lt. 
Jan 
ist  Lt. 
2nd  Lt. 
Jan 

Captain 


Wickham 


Napoleon 


Wickham 
Captain 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


ist  Lt. 


Ah,  still  asleep? 

I  think  so. 

Think  so?    You  whispered  right  in  his  ear? 

Yes. 

Then  why  the  hell  didn't  you  make  him  come? 

He  's  coming. 

Coming? 

Coming  ? 

Ay. 

Pause. 
(With  a  gesture  to  the  right-hand  door)   Boy,  you 
can  go. 

Jan  retires  by  the  door.     Slow  steps  are 
heard  approaching  overhead.     Wickham, 
with  wild  wet  hair  and  deathly  pale,  in  sea- 
man's gear  and  jersey,  slowly  and  blindly 
descends  through  the  hatchway;  and  then 
gropes  along  the  wall.    All  are  silent. 
(Seeing  none  of  them)  Does  he  think  to  cope  with  us 
at  drinking  salt  water?    Ha!  Ha!  no!    The  end  of  our 
horn  is  in  the  sea.     Now  then,  what  have  I  come  for? 
If  I  could  only  remember  what  I've  come  for.     Ah!  the 
parley!    The  parley!    This  light 's  too  bright,  too  bright 
to  be  seen — and  the  sea  *s  in  my  ears  too  loud  to  be 
heard.    Flayed  alive!    One  man  after  another  flayed  off 
alive. 

(Who  has  risen,  and  is  standing)  Why,  this  is  Wick- 
ham! 

The  Officers  are  silent. 
See  whom  you've  let  come  aboard ! 
The  parley,  ah  yes,  the  parley! 
He  's  asleep — delirious. 
Wait.     He  's  talking  to  me. 

Suppose  this  my  cabin.  Well,  no  matter,  suppose  it 
is.  A  parley  on  board,  sir.  You  here,  I  there.  Mid- 
stream. Equal  terms.  We'll  have  our  say  out,  for  once. 
Do  you  think  that  the  wave  stops  at  the  shore? 

(In  a  low,  shuddering  voice,  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  his  forehead 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


75 


A.D.C. 
Napoleon 
Wick  ham 


A.D.C. 
Wick  ham 


Captain 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


Napoleon 

A.D.C. 

Wickham 


Captain 
Wickham 


against  the  table)  O  don't  look  at  him!    Don't  look  at 
him !    He  's  come  up  off  the  Varne. 

Shall  I  wake  him  ? 

No,  idiot !    Listen !    The  lid  's  off  the  brain. 

Catch  that  beat.  The  pulse  of  the  norm  we  spring 
back  to.  Ally  yourself  with  that!  Or  do  you  think  you 
can  fight  the  very  breath  that  tossed  you  up  to  where 
you  are?     (Pause)     No,  little  man! 

Who  's  he  talking  to? 

Only  myself!     (Pause)     Ah,  I  forgot! 

He  goes  to  one  of  the  panels;  opens  it,  and 
feels  inside;  appears  satisfied;  shuts  it;  and 
returns  to  his  seat — the  one  formerly  occu- 
pied by  Napoleon. 
Still  giddy ! 

I'm  afraid  of  this  fellow!    Shall  I  turn  him  out? 

No.  He 's  a  riddle.  Tide-watcher,  boat-builder, 
geometer — takes  as  many  forms  as  he  pleases — a  kind  of 
Proteus. 

Proteus,  yes.  Only  Proteus  storms  Heaven.  How? 
In  all  forms  one.  Multiple  in  our  lower  nature.  That 
makes  maps.  In  our  higher,  single.  I  drink  to  Proteus ! 
But  I'll  sleep  a  little  first.    Then  for  the  parley. 

He  goes  on  about  a  '  parley/ 

Perhaps  he  thinks  himself  Emperor. 

I  can't  keep  you  up  if  you're  determined  to  sink.  One 
of  my  hands  is  in  Asia,  sweeping  away  the  frontier  pil- 
lars. Two  pillars — no  natural  boundary — nothing  to 
hinder  the  stroke.  The  other  's  caught  in  the  Channel. 
It 's  the  breast-stroke  that  wears  one.  Too  wide  a  sweep. 
We're  a  pretty  pair — a  pretty  pair  of  brothers!  Both 
determined  to  sink,  eh  ?  Done  for.  It 's  the  off-current. 
Utterly  done  for!  What's  that?  No,  slog  on,  slog  on, 
old  man.     Change  the  stroke,  I  tell  you! 

He's  talking  to  his  mate,  that  was  lost! 

Change  the  stroke,  old  man,  it'll  ease  you.  With  the 
side  stroke  you'll  be  seen?  Never  mind.  The  parley's 
aboard,  and  we  shall  both  get  aboard  now  .  .  .  My  God, 
useless  the  parley,  useless !    He'll  never  listen. 


76 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Captain 

Napoleon 

A.D.C. 

Captain 

Napoleon 


Wickham 


Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 

Wickham 
Napoleon 


Who  won't  listen  ? 

Why,  Napoleon,  fool! 

Why  won't  he  listen? 

A  monotonous  fellow ! 

What? 

Still  with  the  hard  mind  of  an  artillery-lieutenant  of 
twenty-three. 

Eh? 

No  fault  of  his!  What  time  had  he  to  grow  in? 
Action,  action,  action,  a  thousand  battles  thrust  upon 
him !    What  time  to  ponder  and  mull  over  things  in? 

(To  Captain)  Leave  the  man  to  me.    Go! 

Sir,  the  danger!  I  have  to  answer  to  the  army  for 
your  safety. 

Leave  him  with  me. 

Why  will  your  Majesty  always  run  it  so  fine? 

You  can  carry  things  through  on  a  spun  yarn,  sir; 
but  he  may  be  armed. 

Keep  watch  outside.     But  don't  disturb  us. 

They  go  out.     Napoleon  and  Wickham 
are  left  alone. 

Junkettings  at  this  hour?  Why  these  junkettings? 
And  you?  Who  you  are  I  neither  know  nor  care. 
Sleep  and  welcome !  Shake  down  on  the  floor  anywhere 
before  the  fire.     Did  you  bring  a  light,  mate? 

Napoleon  silently  offers  him  a  ftint-and- 
steel  box. 

Somewhere  I've  seen  that  face  of  yours  before. 

You  have.   . 

No  matter.  Lie  wherever  you  like.  (He  strikes  a 
light)     But  for  crushed  thumbs,  he  swam  well. 

Eh? 

But  for  crushed  thumbs,  I  say,  he  wouldn't  have  done 
so  badly.    Mate  ? 

Ask  away. 

What  have  you  done  with  my  brother? 

Napoleon,  surprised,  makes  no  answer. 

(Louder)  What  have  you  done  with  my  brother? 

I  haven't  seen  him. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


77 


Wickham 


Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


Is  that  so?  Ah  well,  I  remember,  he  sank.  {He 
kneels  before  the  stove  to  blow  up  the  fire.)  The  art  of 
fire  is  never  lost,  they  say.  But  the  art  of  setting  souls 
on  fire  will  be  lost  when  I  lose  France.  These  cloudy 
masses,  they  don't  understand  themselves.  What  harm 
in  that?  /  understand  for  them.  One  spark  will  expand 
them  to  power — limitless  power.  Lightnings  must  be 
controlled,  Wickham !  Controlled !  And  yet — yet  by  the 
living  God — I'm  sinking!  What  has  brought  them  up 
from  the  Atlantic  so  thick  about  me?  .  .  .  One  could 
fight  these  waves,  but  that  every  wave  has  a  ghost's  head ! 

Recollect !  This  is  your  ship.  You're  aboard  your 
own  ship,  Wickham. 

Is  Wickham  in  command? 

No.     I  am. 

I  left  Watt  in  command — old  Watt. 

I'm  in  command. 

Give  Wickham  back  his  ship!  Give  Wickham  back 
his  brother !    Before  I  go  to  sleep — You  shall,  you  shall ! 

I  cannot. 

You  can't  browbeat  me,  my  nipping  friend!  I  may 
not  know  your  face,  but  you  I  know. 

Who  am  I  ? 

Why,   nothing  but   myself — myself!     Once   a   great 
body  of  pure  fire — but  now,  sinking,  sinking,  sinking! 
Long  pause. 

Wake!  Wake!  {Seizes  his  arm)  You  seemed  a  man, 
and  offered  me  your  survey.  Why  palter  with  me,  like 
the  rest? 

{Passing  his  hand  over  his  eyes)  Ah,  you  want  maps 
— I  had  forgotten  maps. 

Your  work  I  trusted.    Why  break  faith  in  that? 

Wickham  rises  unsteadily,  goes  in  a  dazed 
manner  to  the  panel,  takes  out  the  maps  and 
flings  them  down. 

There  they  are. 

He  re-seats  himself  at  the  table  and  leans 
his  head  on  his  hands.  Napoleon  falls  on 
the  maps  and  examines  them  devouringly. 


78 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I 


Napoleon 


Napoleon 


Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 


Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wicklmm 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


By  God !    This  work  's  superb ! 

Wickham  remains  with  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

(To  himself)  Superb!  What  scale?  The  approaches. 
All  the  depths.  These  are  the  shoals.  This  must  have 
taken  years!  Is  this  cliff-road  metalled?  No,  a  sheep- 
track.  Six  hours  to  engineer  a  road  for  guns,  from  the 
underclifl.  What 's  this  place  marked  in  blue,  a  mile 
inland? 

Wickham  makes  no  answer. 
This  is  insufferable !     He  's  asleep !     Come  here,  man ! 
(Drags  him  over)    I  take  back  all — Your  work  's  in- 
credibly fine.     What 's  the  blue  site  a  mile  inland  from 
the  cliff? 

(Slowly)  Oh  that?    A  farm-house — my  father's. 

Ah — not  a  fort? 

No. 

It  has  a  tower. 

A  ruined  tower. 

He  buries  his  head  in  his  hands  again,  and 
seems  asleep. 

(Intent  on  the  maps;  not  observing  Wickham)  Look 
here!  You  must  enter  my  service  instantly.  I  make 
you,  at  once,  inspector  of  all  my  northern  coasts.  But 
you  must  interpret  these  to  me.  Do  you  hear?  Incon- 
ceivable ! — he  's  asleep !  Ten  thousand  curses !  There  's 
no  time !  No  matter,  he'll  awake. 
Pause. 

(Looking  up)  What  use  for  me  to  wake?  It's  time 
for  me  to  drop  out  of  the  light. — You  too. 

What!  You'll  wake  a  new  man!  You'll  wake  in  the 
imperial  service ! 

I  will  not  wake,  I  tell  you!    The  parley's  ruined. 

Why?  The  conditions  are  perfect;  just  what  was 
settled.  Here  are  your  charts.  But  time  presses:  the 
fog  may  lift  at  any  moment.  What  you  have  to  say, 
man,  say!    Say  on,  say  on! 

Say  on !  And  my  brother's  body  like  the  rest,  wash- 
ing faceless  upon  some  mud-bank !    Say  on — and  I  your 


ACT  III.     SCENE  I  79 


prisoner!  Say  on — and  the  key  to  the  gates  of  England 
(With  a  gesture  towards  the  maps)  in  your  bloody 
hands!    Out  of  my  sight  you — you  infamy  of  glory! 

He  breaks  down,  and  leans  back,  his  head 
thrown  back  and  eyes  closed. 
Napoleon  This  is  not  madness.     What  you  want  is  rest.     He  's 

utterly  exhausted.  Sleep  there.  (Looking  at  his  watch) 
I'll  spare  you  two  hours  to  recover  in.    Sleep ! 

Wickham  gradually  falls  back  asleep,  in 
the  chair  by  the  fire.  Napoleon  puts  six 
lighted  candles  down  on  the  floor  and 
stretches  himself  on  the  maps  on  his  stom- 
ach, with  a  pair  of  compasses  in  his  hand. 


The  Curtain  falls  gradually. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  II 

The  Threshold.     Night. 

Mrs.  Anne  Wickham  comes  out  from  a  house-door  of 
the  Abbey  Farm-house,  and  speaks  from  the  steps  of 
a  threshold. 

Anne  Are  you  there,  Shepherd? 

Voice  Yes,  Madam,  in  the  yard. 

Anne  I  cannot  sleep   .    .    .   Will  you  do  something  for  me? 

Voice  Surely,  Madam,  anything. 

Anne  I've  had  a  dream   .    .    .   my  sons  struggling  on  a  cliff, 

and  falling  back  from  a  little  narrow  shelf  into   .    .    . 

{She  pauses) 
Voice  Eh  ? 

Anne  They  fell,  and  fell,  and  fell,  and  I — as  it  were  into 

the  sea. 
Voice  What  shall  I  do  ? 

Anne  Go  across  the  fields  to  the  cliff's  edge,  and  look.     See 

if  the  fog  has  lifted  anywhere,  and  the  sloop  's  in  sight. 
Voice  Going  now,  Ma'am. 

She  goes  in  from  the  threshold,  out  of  sight 


80 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 


The  Sloop's  Cabin. 

The  interior  of  the  Cabin.  It  is  still  night  but  not  so 
dark.  The  candles  on  the  floor  have  burned  down 
and  are  guttering  and  bearded.  Napoleon  is  still 
stretched  on  the  floor,  with  one  shoulder  leaning 
against  the  cabin  wall  and  head  thrown  back,  asleep. 

The  boy  Jan  enters  to  awake  Napoleon.  He  sees  with 
amazement  his  brother,  Geoffrey  Wickham,  who 
rises  with  a  gesture  of  silence  and  embraces  the  boy. 
Jan  explains  by  gesture  that  he  should  wake  Na- 
poleon. Wickham  refuses.  He  presses  the  boy's 
head  to  his  breast  and  motions  him  out  of  the  cabin. 
Jan  goes  out. 

(Looking  down  on  Napoleon)  What  can  be  meas- 
ured with  compasses?    Wake,  phantom! 

(Waking)    My   eyelids  closed.     I   saw  you  through 
them.     Rested? 

I  am  myself  again.     My  head  is  clear. 
Do  you  hate  me  still? 
I'm  indifferent — indifferent  as  a  dream. 
You  had  just  grievances. — Spoke  out  of  the  lips  of  your 

wound. 
Grievances?    What  grievances? 
Grief  for  a  brother  's  an  engaging  folly ; 
Any  seal  or  camel  can  shed  tears. 
Be  above  these  animal  ties,  Wickham! 
What  will  they  signify  a  century  hence? 
Transcendent  geometry  's  the  game ! 
How  infinitely  sounder  than  to  be  a  man 
It  is  to  be  map-maker !    Keep  ice-cold ! 

Si 


82 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


Keep  at  the  height  of  your  career  in  science! 

That 's  the  sublime — to  serve  the  superhuman.     {Pause) 

But  you  think  the  art  of  life  's  to  follow  fieldpaths — 

Then  why  cross  mine,  the  dangerous  highroad? 

Your  Roman  road — the  beaten  way — is  barren. 

I  came  to  show  another. 

By  the  way. 
These  charts — Are  the  maps  false  ? 

No — true. 
Do  you  know  it  crossed  my  mind  they  were  a  lure, 
To  bring  me  to  mid-channel,  to  murder  me? 
To  murder? — no. 

Well,  tempt  me  out  here? 
Tempt  ? — hardly. 

To  what  end? 

To  reason. 

Reason! 
There  was  your  letter  of  invitation; 
I  had  blood  of  France  and  England  in  my  veins; 
And  what 's  still  common  to  both  peoples — reason. 
Reason,  fanatic? — Yet  the  maps  are  sane! — 
And  if  reason  failed,  I  was  your  prisoner? 
If  you  went  back  without  my  maps,  then  free. 
But  if  I  kept  the  maps — your  prisoner? 
Yes. 

Pause. 
And  now,  by  God,  you  are  mine !   .    .    . 
Well,  I'll  hear  reason  now ! 
Any  Bourbon  would  be  willing  to  hear  reason, 
So  reason  spoke  only  from  a  cage.    .    .    . 
Too  late — no  change  of  heart  in  sight  of  Dover. 
But  you  are  free. 

How  free? 

Take  your  cursed  ship! 
Persuade, — convince! — convert  me,  and  I'll  go  back; 
Speak  out !    Convert  me ! 

To  what? 

Stark  truth ! 
You  do  not  want  it — are  too  old  to  hear  it. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


83 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 


Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 


From  you,  I  swear,  I'll  take  it. 

(With  irony)  Openness  to  persuasion  is  your  shining 
Quality   ...    I  shall  have  much  weight  with  you ! 
Well  then;  persuade  me! 

What,  after  all  ?  .    .    . 
Is  it  possible — after  all  ?  .    .    . 
I  am  too  weak  to  speak  in  liquid  fire. 
What  do  you  want  to  hear? 
(With  humour  and  triumph)  The  famous  parley! 
What  are  the  faults  you  have  to  find  with  me? 
The  rats  that  gnaw  the  feet  of  the  Colossus? 
You  have  no  faith. 

Nothing  but  that  ? 

Overmastery; 
You  sit  at  the  receipt  of  all  men's  wishes 
And  spider-like,  are  over-blown — puffed  up, 
Making  them  yours. 

That  *s  the  main  charge  ? 

No.    Blindness. 
Terrible  presences  assigned  you  honour; 
Human  societies  stand  watching  you, 
And  ring  on  ring,  divine  fraternities. 
Yet  of  the  very  breath  that  makes  them  grow 
You  have  no  apprehension. 

So — I  am  blind? 
Wall-eyed  as  any  man  in  Europe. 

Why? 
Have  you  not  overlooked  the  strategy 
Of  Life?    You  should  be  serving  Life! 

I  serve? 
I  must  be  free  as  air — unanswerable — 
Cold  as  a  natural  law. 

What  of  your  footing? — 
Have  you  forgot  your  human  footing? 
What  is  my  footing? 

Sir,  the  loves  that  bred  you 
And  sent  you  forth   .    .    .   You  have  none  else.    Nor  I. 
But  you — did  you  come  as  friend?    To  help,  or  thwart 
me? 


84 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


If  you  were  defender  of  France,  then  to  help; 
If  the  aggressor  on  England — then  to  thwart. 

Napoleon  makes  a  gesture,  indicating  jus- 
tification of  his  own  surmises. 

Are  you  the  aggressor  in  this  war?    Who  knows? 
It  may  be  this  night 's  a  high  water-shed 
Pouring  your  purposes  this  way  or  that, 
For  ever. 

Perhaps.     It  may  be  so,  my  friend. 
But  tell  me  why  you  crossed. 
An  act  of  faith,  an  act  of  faith  in  you! 
Might  not  your  course  by  a  feather  be  diverted? 
And  that  seagull's  feather  be  myself? 

How  so? 
You  were  still  the  out-thrust  of  the  human  bough — 
Not  yet  its  rise  and  poise — the  second  self; 
Still  seeking  to  re-forge  our  molten  world 
To  your  own  image.    Do  we  not  both  seek 
Perfection? 

The  rainbow  seen  with  the  eye  of  the  dew-drop?    Ay, 
But  whose  perfection? 

Yes,  I  am  an  artist : 
I  am  an  artist  whose  brushwork  is  forces. 
Ah! 

Waves  have  hit  upon  my  face  like  stirrup-irons — 

O  for  words  like  them  against  you !   .    .    .   Forces ! 

You  deal  with  forces  only  of  ripe  men 

At  the  moment  of  their  ripeness  for  the  cannon. 

You  ignore  the  heave  of  the  whole  human  ring 

Of  lives  at  every  moment — every  age; 

The  forces  in  the  frail  things  you  ignore  .    .    . 

How? 

Think  of  the  strengths  just  rippling  in  the  dances 

Of  a  little  child,  that  shall  jet  it  like  a  fountain 

Up  to  seventy  years  of  living  after  us — 

Children,  that  are  our  fearless  dreams  come  true, 

These  are  the  strengths  that  you  would  now  bleed  white 

And  at  their  pale  cost  stretch  your  glories  wider ; 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


85 


Napoleon 
Wick  ham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


These    are    the    strengths    that    you   had    once    behind 

you — 
Have  you  them  now? 

I  must  establish  order. 
Have  you  never  yet  felt  how  the  human  order 
May  time  with  the  universal? 

Never  yet. 
Nor,  breaking  through  your  husk,  become  aware 
Of  the  multiverse  of  selves  beholding  you, 
Rising  like  flowers — all  the  seeking  eyes  of  God? 
Never  yet. 

Strange,  strange !    When  I  saw  it  first 
The  sudden  sight  scarce  gave  me  room  to  breathe! 
The  long  crystalline  streams,  coil  above  coil, 
Like  coils  of  mighty  music  flung  around  us 
Embranched  as  within  a  sea's  transparency — 
The  flowing  eddies  from  one  breath  thrown  off — 
From  blazing  nebula  change,  with  us,  to  leaves 
Of  our  dark  forest — human  families; 
Spiral  rise  of  innumerable  stems 
Into  chalices  full  of  that  intensest  light 
Of  delicate  love,  that  makes  each  chalice  loved — 
Brims  it  with  slow  care,  insight,  wonder,  warmth, 
Brims  it,  and  sighs,  and  ceases — colouring  new 
Frail  petals. 

All  the  world's  tragedies  are  wrecks  of  these 
And  the  flame  of  all  the  mysteries  is  there! 
It  is  the  tide,  the  tide  of  generations 
Filling  with  deep  throb  the  homes   .    .    .   Can  you  not 

feel  it, 
The  great  pulsation  that  is  but  too  slow 
For  our  brief  life's  observance? 
Your  tide-work  taught  you  poetry.     I  seek  order. 
Where  in  your  vision  comes  the  ordered  State? 
There  lies  our  fault — we  have  forgot  the  order! 
First  rise  the  families;— -after— the  souls; 
Then  let  the  State  make  citizens. 
Pooh!    The  family! 

So  close,  so  close  to  us 


86 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 


Wickham 


That  we  know  nothing  of  it !    Clustered  order 
Woven  like  the  weaving  of  women! 

Yours  is  a  faith 
For  peasants — No  room  for  soldier,  artist,  Caesar — 
No  base  for  the  sublime. 
What  if  this  common  flame  be  the  sublime? 
Eh? 

There  is  a  Roman  worship,  not  of  Caesar, 
That  yet  may  make  our  broken  world  one  realm. 
What  if  the  hearth-light  be  the  light  of  Heaven? 
And  our  smoky  earth-born  fire  leap  to  its  fellow 
Unborn,  to  lift  for  us  the  future 
Temples  of  Vesta — glowing,  pure,  and  free? 
Sheer  poetry. 

Its  sands  will  not  run  out 
When  we  do.     Test  it  for  yourself — it's  there! 
The  core! 
Mere  dreams,  mere  dreams!   .... 

And  yet  more  real  than  we 
Are  the  mere  dreams  we  die  for.    .    .    . 
Why  do  we  rise  to  our  full  height  as  men 
Only  when  this  is  threatened?   .... 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

Ally  yourself 
With  this  vast  natural  underlying  form 
That  strives  to  use  us  for  its  own  perfection. 
Can  you  defeat  the  forest's  thirst  to  flower? 
Defend  the  families! 

How  well  I  know  them! 
Do  the  men  of  France  pay  me  to  be  their  brother? 
A  sympathetic  burgess  in  their  likeness? 
They  pay  me  for  my  difference  from  themselves. 
Soft,  vain,  light,  weak,  pay  me  to  be  of  iron, 
Utterly  pitiless,  on  their  behalf. 
And  when  my  ruthlessness  has  served  its  turn 
Would  pitch  me  away. 

Yours  is  a  nightmare  world. 
Is  there  any  reason  why  the  family 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


87 


Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


Napoleon 


Should  stand  for  ever  what  it  is  to-day — 
Dulled  by  mismating,  foiled  of  joy? 

{Musing)  You  think 
That  the  familial  love  enlarged  by  mind — 
This  group  of  instincts  sublimated — 
Has  tidal  force,  the  force  of  the  ideal?   .... 
Ay — though  the  beat  be  slow ! 

As  if  the  sea 
Could  grasp  one  with  a  hand  ? 

Ay! 

Strange — 
'Tis  strange  indeed,  the  thing  that  you  contend: 
That  I  must  serve  the  families — these  first; 
That  size  of  body  to  my  realms  is  nothing 
Beside  this  vein  that 's  vital  to  them  all   ...    . 
The  spirit  in  the  midst   .    .    .   yes. 
Pause. 

You  are  right. 
But  it 's  beyond  me,  Wickham,  it 's  beyond  me, 
Too  slow.     I  must  stick  to  skill  I  understand — 
The  sword.    .    .    . 

My  hand  's  a  trifle  quicker  than  those  fellows*. 
Yours  is  a  nightmare  world. 
Yes,  a  wilderness  of  individuals — 
The  strongest,  I ! 
The  strongest,  I! — .    .    .   Well,  to  think  you  came  as 

friend ! 
I  came  as  fool,  sir,  for  I  had  remembered — 
Though  I  could  have  cursed  myself  that  cared  for  you — 
The  half-starved  leader  of  inspired  battalions 
When  the  red  earth  rose  in  furrows  after  you 
Sweeping  through  Italy,  that  as  you  came 
Leapt  up  as  a  dog  leaps  to  meet  its  master — 
The  starry  voice  that  was  to  free  mankind ! 
What  though  you  proved  her  plunderer,  and  a  king  ?  .    .   . 
I  had  remembered  only  that  France  trusts  you, 
Infinitely  loves — what  a  strange  patience  love  is! — 
Infinitely  trusts  whom  she  has  so  rewarded. 
VVhv  not? 


88 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 
Napoleon 


Wickham 


You  are  changed,  Napoleon. 
Asia  has  at  a  touch  transformed 
Young  Caesar.    Now  upon  the  desert's  gate 
Sits  an  Egyptian  vulture,  brooding,  brooding, 
Over  old  sand.     Old  desert  news  he  hears : 
Two  thousand  prisoners  sick  are  shot  at  Jaffa; 
Sackfuls  of  rebel  heads  poured  out  in  Cairo 
In  the  public  square,  to  over-awe  the  people. 
It  was  young  Perseus,  deliverer  of  France, 
It  was  my  Captain,  did  these  things — 'Twas  you. 
You're  faint.     Loss  of  blood? 

Not  of  mine. 
You  are  too  sore.    I  know  your  Jacobin  ditty, 
I  betrayed  the  Republic — Well,  I  saved  the  Revolution! 
I  cooled  the  hot-heads,  but  I  fired  the  cold! 
France  has  more  need  of  me  than  I  of  her, 
And  if  I  fall — and  I  shall  never  fall — 
It  is  Europe  shall  be  humbled,  and  not  I ! 
Are  you  then  so  alone  ?    France  speaks  not  there ! 
You  starve  the  real  world  of  attention,  sir. 
All  eyes  must  watch  the  conjurer  self-entranced 
In  jugglery.     By  a  moment's  single  gesture 
You  build  up  to  the  moon  a  double  empire; 
In  Europe  here,  the  State  of  Charlemagne; 
In  the  Asian  Seas,  the  State  of  Alexander. — 
A  Fakir's  mad  and  solitary  dance — 
But  in  this  tempest-flinging  dervish  dance 
Is  there  the  gesture  of  recovery? 
True,  you  have  Caesar's  head  on  Alexander's 
Body.    All  laws  are  to  ray  from  you 
Like  roads  from  Rome,  and  each  to  carry  cannon. 
'Tis  you  who  hold  the  Bourbon's  bed  of  justice. 
Where  Justice  used  to  sleep.    You  are  a  conqueror. 
The  mob's  new  sovranty  you  hold  by  law — 
And  hold  by  genius.     These  four  solitudes 
Support  your  feet.    What  depths  from  you  to  us ! 
Our  world  's  a  pyramid  with  you  to  plume  it 
In  deserts  strewn  with  carrion.    .    .    .    But  if  alone 
Then  on  what  trunk  of  common  faith  or  passion 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


89 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Dream  you  to  engraft  so  wide  an  empire — 
So  airy  and  so  shadowy?    Is  for  you 
Earth  panorama — Heaven,  phantasmagoria? 
For  you  no  other  souls  exist.    .    .    . 
You  see  too  much. 

And  you,  too  little. 
Because  you  have  no  loves  you  have  no  eyes. 
Your  naked  energy  working  lovelessly, 
Be  it  balanced  like  a  planet,  is  not  wise. 
Not  born  to  the  purple,  you  have  climbed  to  the  purple — 

Ha! 

But  were  it  the  purple  of  the  porphyries  of  Sinai 

Why  should  it  weigh  on  us? 

Dreamer!     You  speak  in  violent  foreshortenings. 

You  are  the  dreamer,  and  the  figment,  you ! 

How  we  have  suffered  from  you,  ghosts  of  Caesar, 

Suffered  through  concentrations  of  our  hope 

Age  after  age  about  your  glittering  figures _ 

That  have  polarised  and  crystallised  and  chained ! 

Awake!     Rome  left  our  tribes  one  great  bequest, 

Her  law.    That 's  in  our  blood,  absorbed  for  ever. 

But  is  then  Europe's  many-fountained  forest 

Bubbling    with    ten    thousand    springs    of    life — clans, 

nations, 
Coloured  by  the  ruddy  soils  from  whence  they  spring, 
Is  this  multi-coloured  insuppressible  world 
To  be  controll'd  from  one  centre  ?    Not  again ! 
To  be  twice  Roman'd  ?    Never ! 
The  grass  will  lift  you  as  it  lifts  the  stone. 
But  now — what  would  you  have  me  do  ?    Now,  now  ? 
{After  a  brief  pause) 

Up  to  this  night,  you  have  made  great  wars.    Return, 
And  make  peace  great;  build  the  new  France; 
Deepen  her  liberties ;  subtilise  her  laws, 
And  make  her  justice  tender. 

Pause. 
Trash !    I'll  not  hear  you.    Give  me  back  the  maps, — 
The  one  with  your  farm-house  marked ! 

Listen,  man,  listen! 


90 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Voices 

Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 

Napoleon 

Wickham 


We  have  a  hundred  births  before  we  die — 

Re-births  to  Beauty.     Miracles  renew  us. 

Even  now,  at  the  eleventh  hour,  go  back ! 

Wickham  takes  a  live  coal  from  the  little 
raised  stove  and  suspends  it  in  his  fingers 
over  the  hatch  which  he  has  opened,  unseen 
by  Napoleon,  and  leant  back  against  the 
table. 

Will  you  go  back  ? 

Napoleon  is  silent. 

You  have  tried  all  arts  of  government  save  one, 

The  impersonal — the  art  of  self-effacement. 

What  self  is  that  which  you  would  now  impose? 

One  whose  light  is  darkness.     Still  you  are  human, 

You,  who  fought  long  for  France — Go  back  to  her ! 

Defend  her  great  pulsation! 

To  go  back  would  confess  me  guilty. 

No — transformed. 
Voices  of  Officers  are  heard  outside. 
Sir,  the  fog  's  lifted — the  coast  of  England  's  in  sight 

— day  breaking. 

Daybreak!    Will  you  return? 

And  why  return,  just  when  your  boat  becomes  con- 
venient?   My  dear  reprover,  am  I  not  to  land? 

Then  he  who  gave  the  key  must  take  it  back.     {Laying 

his  hand  on  the  maps.) 

{Disregarding  this)  Who  are  the  guilty?    Those  who 

would  have  entrapped  me.     Can  the  guilty  condemn, 

O  brotherly  love? 

The  sting  is  just — and  yet  because  'tis  just 

There  is  the  grievance  that  we  have  against  you. 

Yes,  because  our  better  selves  worshipped  this  man 

Who  seemed  a  stormy  daybreak,  we  must  lose  them. 

Bear  witness  how  he  twists  the  friendly  hands 

And  makes  them  do  against  the  light  we  live  by 

His  muddy  work  of  murder! 

He  drops  the  live  coal,  unseen,  into  the 
magazine  of  gunpowder  barrels.  A  thin 
fume  ascends. 


ACT  III.     SCENE  III 


9i 


Napoleon 

Wickham 
Napoleon 

Wickham 


Napoleon 
Wickham 


Voices 
1st  Lt. 


Captain 
Napoleon 
Captain 
Napoleon 
2nd  Lt. 

Napoleon 
2nd  Lt. 


Napoleon 
Wickham 

Napoleon 


What's  that  you're  muttering?     Think  about  your 
future  career,  my  friend. 
Let  it  go  up  in  smoke. 

Nonsense !  You'll  enter  my  service.  What  more  can 
you  look  for  ? 

Nothing,  sire — but,  perhaps,  the  eternal!  (He  drops 
another  glowing  coal  into  the  magazine.  Another  thin 
fame  ascends.) 

Fool!    Time's  everything!    The  eternal  is  the  actual. 
Here,  now,  and  beyond  escape! 

He  drops  another  red  coal  into  the  hatch. 
Another   fume    ascends.     Napoleon    per- 
ceives the  smoke  and  rings  the  bell. 
The  Officers  break  in. 
Smoke !     Sir,  what 's  this  ?     The  magazine !     Down 
hatch ! 

The  spare  powder !    He  has  fired  it ! 

Wickham  is  ovenvhelmed,  and  ran  through 
the  body  from  behind.    He  falls  back.    The 
pozvder  is  quenched.    All  are  silent. 
Does  your  Majesty  intend  to  go  on,  after  this? 
Yes. 

Beating  about  till  nightfall? 
Yes. 

(Pointing  at  Wickham)  Shall  he  be  thrown  over- 
board ? 

No,  keep  the  body,  it  may  be  useful  when  we  land. 
(Stooping  over  Wickham's  body)   Not  quite  dead. 
There  's  a  spark  in  the  flask  yet !     He  's  saying  some- 
thing.    '  The  boy,  the  boy.    .    .    . ' 
What  is  it? 

(Rising  on  his  arm,  to  Napoleon)  The  boy  did  come 
to  wake  you. 

(Looking  at  Wickham)  He  too? 

Wickham  sinks  back  again  unconscious. 


END  OF  ACT  III. 


ACT   IV 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


Anne 


Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 


Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 
Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 


The  Abbey  Farm-house. 

The  study  in  the  Farm-house,  towards  evening.     Mrs. 
Wickham  is  discovered  alone. 

(Looking  out  of  the  window)  At  last !  At  last !  (She 
goes  towards  the  door.) 

Doctor  Wickham  enters. 

Where  did  you  get  my  message? 

(Embracing  her)  It  caught  me  at  Dover. 

Have  you  seen  the  sloop  ? 

Yes. 

I  told  you  how  marvellous  the  shepherd's  sight  was. 
He  saw  her  from  the  cliff — through  a  rift  in  cloud. 
Alas !    She  's  in  enemy  hands ! 

No;  she  's  recaptured. 

Recaptured  ? 

She  came  in  to-day  to  Dover  roads. 

The  sloop  recaptured! 

Is  there  grief  in  that?  No — the  grief  's  this,  that  none 
of  the  three  are  on  board  her.    None  of  the  three! 

What  of  Ray?    No  news  of  Raymond? 

None.  Is  he  lost,  a  prisoner  in  France,  like  Geoffrey  ? 
— Who  knows? 

It  must  have  been  Ray,  that  fell  and  fell,  and 
fell   .    .    .   Whom  did  you  meet? 

Two  of  the  crew  released. 

Where  are  they? 

Talking  to  the  coast-guard  in  the  lane. 

The  coast-guards  coming  here  ?    Why  ? 

The  coast-guards  are  coming  on  a  wild-goose  chase. 

Coming  here?    That 's  strange! 

They  say  they  have  seen  on  the  summit  of  our  tower, 
a  figure  among  the  ivy — a  cloaked  figure — surveying 
the  country  with  a  glass. 

95 


96 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


Anne 
Doctor 
Anne 
Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 
Margaret 


Margaret 

Doctor 

Margaret 

Doctor 

Margaret 

Doctor 

Margaret 

Doctor 

Margaret 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 
Anne 

Doctor 
Anne 

Doctor 
Anne 


Doctor 


Here,  on  Radegund's  ruined  tower? 

Yes,  by  our  yard — The  Abbey  tower. 

You  told  them  'twas  absurd? 

Of  course.  I  laughed  at  them :  told  them  to  come. 
You  can  give  them  old  ale  in  the  kitchen. 

They  will  make  a  noise.     I  cannot  have  a  noise! 

Why,  what  has  happened  ? 

I'll  go  out  and  arrange  things.     (She  goes  out.) 

Margaret  enters.    Her  manner  is  agitated. 

Tired,  my  child? 

(Hastily)  Not  in  the  least. 

Doctor  Wickham  is  going  to  enter  his 
laboratory. 

Don't  go  in  there,  Father. 

Is  my  own  study  barred  me? 

Yes,  for  a  while.     Mother  wished  it. 

(Pointing  to  a  cloak  on  the  tabic)  Whose  cloak  is  this? 

I  hadn't  noticed  it. 

(Taking  it  up  and  examining  it)  It's  just  like  Geof- 
frey's.    (He  replaces  it  on  the  table.) 

Is  it? 

I  don't  understand  why  your  mother  sent  for  me. 

She  felt  you  should  come. 

Mrs.  Wickham  re-enters. 

My  man,  Geoffrey  is  here! 

Geoffrey  here? 

Yes.    Watch  by  him,  Margaret — go  upstairs. 
Margaret  goes  out. 

I  must  see  him. 

You  cannot  see  him,  dear.  He's  ill;  wounded;  in 
danger. 

I  must  tell  him  how  I  doubted  him — so  ignobly. 

Stay — he  's  asleep — he  mustn't  be  wakened 

William,  he  's  dying. 

How  did  he  come  back? 

Wait  and  hear.  Last  night,  soft,  softly,  earth,  thrown 
up  at  my  window,  roused  me.  In  the  garden  I  found 
a  little  pallid,  shivering  elf — Jan. 

Jan! 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


97 


Anne 


Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 


Doctor 
Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 
Doctor 

Anne 
Doctor 

Anne 

Doctor 

Anne 


they 
me, 


Napoleon  Pardon ! 


With  his  finger  to  his  lips.  He  was  strangely 
unexcited;  no  tears.  His  message  was,  that  Geoffrey, 
drowning  in  the  Channel,  had  been  picked  up — saved 
by  French  seamen.  An  officer  of  theirs  would  bring 
him  up  here,  in  a  litter;  but  on  one  condition — shelter 
for  the  Frenchman  himself,  for  four-and-twenty  hours. 

You  promised  the  French  officer  safeguard  here? 
You  could  give  no  such  promise. 

I  gave  it. 

But  to  give  it  was  treason! 

Were  we  not,  at  all  costs,  to  receive  our  son?  . 
By  the  cliff  path  from  the  warren,  in  a  swoon, 
brought  him — half  unconscious.  He  recognized 
William,  once — spoke  once. 

I  must  see  him!    I  must  save  him! 

You  cannot — now  the  coast-guards — Send  them 
away!    Send  them  away! 

How  hurt  at  heart  I  was — what  words  I  used,  when 
the  poor  lad  sailed!    I  must  see  him. 

First  put  off  the  men! 

I  will  tell  the  coast-guard  outright — our  son  is  here — 
tell  all.     Where  is  your  French  officer? 

In  the  walled  garden. 

We  must  either  give  him  up  or  give  ourselves  up  .  .  . 
No  lying. 

But  I  gave  my  word  of  honour  to  safeguard  him. 

How  safeguard  him  back  to  a  ship  recaptured ?    How? 

Solve  it  you!  I  leave  the  question  in  your  hands. 
(She  goes  out.) 

The  Doctor  is  turning  to  go  out  by  an- 
other door  to  meet  the  coast-guards  when, 
behind  him,  Napoleon  enters  from  the 
laboratory. 

Before  you  hear  the  coast-guard,  sir,  hear 
ne.  I  rescued  at  sea  your  drowning  son;  succoured 
him;  risked  my  rank  to  bring  him  here.  I  did  so  under 
solemn  pledge  of  safety  for  four-and-twenty  hours.  It 
would  be  a  lesson,  if  your  pledge  is  broken,  in  the 
humanities. 


98 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


Doctor 
Napoleon 


Doctor 
Margaret 
Doctor 
Margaret 

Doctor 

Margaret 

Napoleon 

Doctor 

Napoleon 


Doctor 

Napoleon 

Doctor 

Napoleon 

Doctor 

Napoleon 

Doctor 


Did  you  survey  the  country  from  our  tower  ?    Downs 
— forts — all  our  coasts? 

What  harm  ?    I  knew  them.     I  had  an  hour  to  spend. 
Harkye!    Not  only  did  I  save  his  life  from  drowning — 
He  was  pardoned  by  our  Captain  though  he  made  an 
attempt  to  kill  every  soul  on  board.     Mark  that.     Re- 
member that. — I  have  a  triple  claim. 
Margaret  re-enters. 
I  see  no  hope  for  you.     My  son  is  dead ! 
Oh,  how  did  you  know  it,  Father? 
By  your  face,  my  child.     {Pause)  Did  he  say  nothing? 
He  said,   'In  vain,  in  vain!',  as  all  night  he  kept 
tossing. 

To  think  I  wronged  him !  And  he  will  never  know 
it !  nor  forgive   .    .    . 

To  Mother  he  said  once,  '  Let  me  hold  your  hand;  it 
has  life  in  it  still '. 

He  was  sick  for  great  exploit — a  noble  spirit. 
He  was. 

That  was  why  our  Captain  saved  him. — And  I,  know- 
ing your  country  teems  with  fine  revolutionaries — ill- 
used  free  spirits — spared  him  to  his  father. 

Yet  we  are  not  traitors.     And  your  own  case,   sir, 
whomsoever  you  may  be,  is  worse  than  I  have  told  you. 
Why? 

Your  ship  's  recaptured. 
Recaptured?     (Pause)     I  am  cut  off? 
Cut  off. 

(Shrugging  his  shoulders)  I  have  no  more  to  say. 
I'll  go  and  see  the  coast-guard.     This  we'll  grant  you. 
I'll  not  myself  denounce  you.     Hide;  or  escape! 
He  goes  out. 

Napoleon  and  Margaret  are  left  alone  in 
silence.  Napoleon  turns  and  looks  out  of 
the  zvindow  with  his  hands  behind  him. 
Mrs.  Wickham  re-enters.  She  takes  no 
notice  of  Napoleon,  but  looks  at  Geoffrey  s 
cloak  lying  on  the  table,  leans  over  it,  and 
kisses  it. 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


99 


Napoleon 

Anne 
Napoleon 

Anne 

Napoleon 

Anne 


Napoleon 
Anne 


Doctor 
Coast-guard 


Doctor 

Napoleon 

Anne 


Napoleon 
Doctor 


{Returning  to  the  table,  on  which  the  cloak  is  lying 
between  him  and  Mrs.  Wickham)  He  who  has  died  for 
his  country  has  lived  long  enough. 

We  guessed  well,  then — we  guessed  well! 

In  the  sight  of  Heaven  I  declare,  I  did  all  I  could  to 
save  your  son. 

(Slowly  speaking  across  the  table)  No,  you  did  not! 

Madam,  I   .    .    . 

Ay  .  .  .  When  he  was  drowned  you  bade  him  in  to 
supper  .  .  .  You  forget  how  well  I  know  him  .  .  . 
Yet  if  this  could  speak  (touching  the  cloak)  it  would 
ask  for  your  release   .    .    . 

Madam — 

O,  we  are  grateful  .  .  .  We  know,  that  for  all 
your  kindness  to  our  sons,  we  women  have  long  reckon- 
ing to  pay  ...  It  shall  be  paid — it  shall  be  paid  in 
full !  .  .  .  But  who  can  give  back  to  us  what  you 
have  taken? 

Napoleon  turns  his  back  on  the  company, 

and  faces  the  window. 

Dr.  Wickham  re-enters  with  one  of  the 

coast-guards. 

Speak  out,  man ! 

(After  a  keen  glance  at  Napoleon's  back)  We  have 
been  told  by  Mrs.  Wickham  about  the  bringing  up  of  Mr. 
Geoffrey;  and,  knowing  you  and  Mrs.  Wickham  these 
many  years,  we  think  the  case  of  the  officer  is  out  of  our 
beat  to  meddle  with ;  against  our  conscience  like.  We'd 
rather  leave  the  deciding  of  it  to  you  and  Mrs.  Wickham. 
We'll  wait  outside.  What  you  settle  we'll  abide  by. 
The  Coast-guard  goes  out. 

Anne  the  burden  of  the  prisoner  lies  on  you.    Decide! 

(Turning  round)  Let  your  honour  decide. 

This  evening  eight  of  our  fisherman  village  friends 
will  row  you  across  from  the  underclifr  to  France.  You 
are  released,  sir. 

(Astonished,  after  a  pause)  Thanks. 

I'll  go  tell  the  coast-guards. 

The  Doctor  and  Margaret  go  out. 


IOO 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  I 


Napoleon 
Anne 
Napoleon 
Anne 


Napoleon 

Anne 

Napoleon 


Anne 


Napoleon 
Anne 


Anne 


I  have  no  words   ...   Do  you  mean  all 's  settled? 

All  settled. 

And  how  settled  ? 

Don't  you  take  sun  and  moon  to  witness  that  you  have 
not  come  to  despoil  us  of  our  country?  We  are  merely 
to  own  you  as  a  saviour;  and  as  a  saviour  descended 
from  the  sun.  Well,  sir,  from  our  misty  coasts  we  will 
let  you  go. 

May  I  ask  a  question  ? 

Ask,  sir. 

I  see  you  know  me. 

Mrs.  Wickham  bows. 

You  mothers  solve  dark  riddles  like  the  lightning. 
Tell  me — for  I  am  curious — tell  me  .  .  .  your  brave 
son  's  dead — I  have  looked  across  your  country — Why 
do  you  let  me  go? 

(After  a  pause)  Because  we  are  strong  enough  to  let 
you  go!  .  .  .  Because  you  are  an  enemy  so  vital,  that 
we  can  a  little  mock  at  you  ...  If  you  come  to  pass, 
why,  aught  can  come  to  pass  ...  If  you  conquer  us, 
we  can  afford  to  laugh — for  there  's  a  madness  at  the 
root  of  things  .  .  .  When  my  son  was  drowned,  you 
bade  him  in  to  supper  .  .  .  Well,  go  free!  .  .  .  Sup 
with  that !    Sup  with  that,  until  you  die ! 

(In  a  low  voice)  And  why  so  sure,  Madam,  why  so 
sure? 

Because  you  cannot  change! — Because  so  cold  a  pur- 
pose will  not  change !  .  .  .  And  there  's  so  deep  a 
power  set  against  you,  that  we  can  rest  upon  it  .  .  . 
All  we  have  lost — (Raising  her  arms  as  though  to  em- 
brace an  unseen  host  innumerable) — all  that  are  yet  to 
come — are  in  our  ranks.  You  are  the  eddy — they  the 
tide  .  .  .  The  boatmen  are  waiting,  sire. 
Napoleon  goes  out. 

(Takes  up  the  cloak,  and  swaying  it  in  her  arms, 
stands  with  eyes  closed.  She  speaks  as  to  the  cloak) 
O  my  joy,  my  joy,  art  thou  satisfied? 


*    ■         >  >      :  . 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  II 


Napoleon 


Meneval 

Voice 
Napoleon 
Voice 
Napoleon 

Voice 
Napoleon 

Voice 

Napoleon 

Voice 
Napoleon 


Meneval 


Napoleon's  Baraque. 

An  interior  wall  of  the  Emperor's  Baraque,  Boulogne. 
A  curtain  divides  the  Emperor,  as  he  speaks,  from 
his  secretary,  who  is  unseen. 

( Walking  rapidly  up  and  down  with  his  hands  behind 
his  back)  Exhausted?  No.  I  can  stand  the  pace  for 
another  six  years.  (Pause)  Meneval,  go  on  with  the 
minute !  Date  it  to-morrow — the  twenty-sixth  of 
August ! 

The  twenty-sixth  of  August?  Ah,  the  day  that  Julius 
Caesar  crossed  the  Channel ! 

Yes. 

(Dictating)   '  On  the  eve  of  a  general  movement' — 

'  General  movement.' 

'  I  return  to  Boulogne  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing '— 

'  Morning.' 

'  To  find  my  antechamber  crowded  as  terribly  as  the 
belly  of  the  Trojan  horse ' — 

'  Horse.' 

1  But  no  sentry  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  .  .  .  This  is 
disorderly.' 

1  Disorderly.' 

Now  draft  a  second  minute  for  the  Chief  of  Staff — 
Berthier ! — '  Issue  the  following  orders  to  the  Generals 
of  division  of  the  Seven  Army  Corps  of  the  Grande 
Armee: — On  the  Second  of  September,  you  will  begin 
your  march  en  echelon  towards  the  Rhine.' 

(Tremulously,  issuing  from  behind  the  curtain)  To- 
wards the  Rhine? 

Napoleon,    disregarding    Meneval,    con- 
tinues the  dictation. 
Meneval  retires  quickly  behind  the  curtain. 


IOI 


102 


i 


ACT  IV.     SCENE  II 


Napoleon 


Meneval 

Napoleon 

Meneval 

Napoleon 


Meneval 
Napoleon 

Meneval 
Napoleon 


'  On  the  Second  of  September,  the  First  Army  Corps, 
under  Marshal  Bernadotte,  will  begin  the  march  from 
Hanover  on  Wurzburg. 

On  the  same  date  the  Second  Army  Corps,  under 
Marshal  Marmont,  will  move  from  Holland  on  Mayence. 

The  Third  Army  Corps,  under  Marshal  Davoust,  will 
move  from  Boulogne  on  Mannheim. 

The  Fourth  Army  Corps,  under  Marshal  Soult,  from 
Boulogne  on  Stuttgart. 

The  Fifth,  under  Marshal  Lannes,  from  Wimereux 
on  Strasburg. 

The  Sixth,  under  Marshal  Ney,  from  Etaples,  also  on 
Strasburg. 

The  Seventh,  under  Marshal  Augereau,  will  follow 
Ney,  on  the  same  date,  from  farther  west,  on  Strasburg. 

The  Imperial  Guard  will  march  from  Paris  under 
Marshal  Bessieres. 

Murat,  at  present  detailed  on  special  secret  service, 
will  lead  the  Cavalry.' 

(Issuing  from  the  curtain)  My  God!  Across  the 
Rhine ! 

The  Danube!    The  point  of  convergence  will  be  Ulm. 

Your  Majesty  has  seen  the  despatch  from  the  fleet? 

Ah,  Villeneuve!  Villeneuve  has  taken  refuge  again 
in  a  hole  in  the  Spanish  coast!  .  .  .  But  if  I  had  hung 
on  Villeneuve,  I  should  still  be  keeping  sheep  in  Corsica! 

And  so  it  is  Austria  that  you  are  going  to  strike? 

Stunned  as  usual?  Yes.  The  eagle  has  come  down 
from  the  ceiling.  My  '  great  army  '  that  faced  north- 
ward, faces  eastward. 

Still  towards  your  day-star,  Glory. 

Glory  is  not  my  star,  but  my  shadow.  I  begin  my 
march  on  Asia.  Two  months  hence,  I  shall  dictate  peace 
on  the  Danube.  Yes,  my  first  footprint  will  be  on  the 
Danube.  Alexander  poured  libation  on  the  site  of  Troy. 
Well,  over  the  dead  body  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire, 
I  shall  hold  the  midnight  mass  in  Vienna. 


THE  END 


PERSONS  IN  THE  PLAY 

Napoleon. 

Dr.  Wickham,  a  country  doctor. 

Anne  Wickham,  his  wife. 

Geoffrey  Wickham,  their  eldest  son,  twenty-nine  years  old. 

Raymond,  their  second  son,  twenty  years  old. 

Jan,  their  third  son,  twelve  years  old. 

Margaret,  their  daughter  of  seventeen  years. 

Nan,  a  nurse. 

£lise,  niece  of  Anne  Wickham  and,  like  her,  of  French  birth. 

Meneval,  secretary  to  Napoleon. 

Rustam  Mamelouk,  Napoleon's  valet. 

First  Admiral 

Second  Admiral 

Third  Admiral 

Captain  of  the  Port  of  Boulogne   (*of  the  Navy  of  France- 

First  Lieutenant 

Second  Lieutenant 

Bucaille    1 

Broquart    ^  French  fishermen  captains  turned  privateersmen. 

Duchenne J 

A  Cooper. 

A  Marine  Guard. 

An  Aide-de-Camp. 

An  Usher. 

A  Steward. 

An  English  Coast-guard. 

NOTE 

The  ruins  and  tower  of  St.  Radegund's  Abbey,  in  part  converted 
into  a  farm-house,  still  exist  on  a  hill  a  few  miles  south-west  of  Dover. 

The  Abbey  was  a  twelfth-century  foundation  of  the  Order  of 
White  Canons. 


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